Prison journals during the French revolution

UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARv FACIi

G 000 084 185 8

^\ ^}^^!,

M

mm

'^^,^

'mMr^

{(..

^><?f-

' '

0

4'^

^^a

kf^

t%

THE LIBRARY
OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

PRISON JOURNALS

DURING

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

BY

THE DUCHESSE DE DURAS

NEE NOAILLES

Translated by Mrs. M. Carey

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

1892

Copyright, 1891,
By Dodd, Mead and Company.

All rights reserved.

SSnibctsitg Prrss:

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.

CONTENTS.

Page

Prison Life during the French Revolution 7

Addenda 139

Madame Latour's Memoir 159

Events of the 21st of July, 1794 199

Narrative of an Eye-witness of the Affair

OF July 22, 1794 209

Letter from Madame la Duchesse de Duras,

nee Noailles, to Monsieur Grelet . . . 227
Extract from the ' Mi^morial Europeen/

April 24, 1809 229

PRISON LIFE DURING THE
FRENCH REVOLUTION.

T WAS put under arrest, together with my
father and mother, on August 23, 1793,
at our chateau of Mouchy-le-Chatel, in the
Department of the Oise. I was taken to the
prison at Saint-Franpois k Beauvais, in the
old convent, on the 6th of October of the same
year and to that at Chantilly on the 20th of
the same month. There I remained until the
<fth. of April, 1794, when I was transferred to
Paris, to the College du Plessis, from which
I was liberated on the 19th of the following
October.

PRISON LIFE DURING THE
FRENCH REVOLUTION.

WRITTEN IN 1801, THE YEAR IX. OF
THE REPUBLIC.

'T^HE period of my confinement in different
■*■ prisons during the Reign of Terror was so
harassing that the idea of writing out its details
did not then occur to me ; but when I had the
consolation of seeing my son once more, he
was desirous of learning all about it. I feared
that I should be overcome by my feelings if I
tried to relate the details to him, and conse-
quently determined to write the following
memoirs.

My parents retired to their estate of Mouchy-
le-Chatel, in the Department of the Oise, in the
month of September, 1792. I accompanied
them thither, and was their sole companion.
They resolved, from prudential motives, to re-
ceive visits from no one. This privation cost
my father nothing, for he was naturally shy,

8 Prison Life

though the positions he had occupied had forced
him to live constantly in the great world. My
mother, who loved him dearly, accustomed her-
self to retirement with submission to the will
of Providence, with the naturally happy dis-
position maintained through all the events of
her life.

She loved system in all things, and she intro-
duced it so successfully into our daily life that
it passed rapidly. Reading, work, play, and
walking filled up every moment. My parents
took pleasure in furnishing refreshment to the
harvesters during their weary labour, in sympa-
thizing with their troubles, and in helping them
by kindnesses. In spite of the position in
which the Revolution placed my father, and the
natural repugnance which he declared he felt
for those who were engaged in it, he gave
volunteers the means of paying their way. My
father had, if I may so express myself, a passion
for charity. His hands were always ready to
bestow, and whenever he received a sum of
money he would in a few hours declare, with
satisfaction, that he had none of it left.

He could keep nothing when he knew that
others were suffering ; hospital visiting, aid ren-
dered in private, all sorts of kind deeds and
comforting words, — in fact all good works

During the French Revolution, 9

were familiar to him ; in these alone he found
happiness.

I have seen him refuse things which he might
have considered necessary for himself in order
to add to the number of his charities. Yet my
father was born with a very unhappy disposi-
tion ; the fortune, the honours, and all the
pleasures that his position secured him were
spoiled by the most miserable discontent. I
frequently endeavoured, firmly and respectfully,
to show him that Heaven had bestowed every
gift upon him, and that nothing was wanting to
his position. He listened patiently to what I
had to say ; but I did not succeed in convincing
him. I worried myself and gained nothing.
My mother, on the contrary, often said to me
that if she should return to society she would
not desire to change her manner of living in the
least. She had a charmingly happy disposition,
and was never out of humour for a moment.

Several times during the Revolution it was
proposed that I should emigrate. One of my
relatives sent for me at different periods, and
urged me to consent to do so. I always re-
fused, having a great repugnance to leaving my
country, and desiring to watch over the old age
of my parents, who were already separated from
some of their children.

lo Prison Life

How great would have been my regret had I
not remained with them up to the moment when
I was deprived of my liberty. I shall retain
to my latest breath the memory of their kind-
ness, and the tenderest gratitude for the good
exam.ple and daily lessons in virtue which I
received from them.

But to return to the details of our family life
at Mouchy.

Every day I was filled with wonder to see my
father, who from his youth had been accustomed
to command (he had at the age of seven been
given the reversion of the governorship of Ver-
sailles after his father's death), obey without
complaint the Revolutionary laws and all those
who executed them. Everything worried him
under the old regime, yet during the Reign of
Terror he was calm because he was entirely
resigned to the will of God. Religion had
regulated all the actions of his life. It was
really, for him, eternal happiness.

We suffered great anxiety during our sojourn
at Mouchy. We were utterly ignorant of the
fate of my elder brother.^ A price had been
put on his head and the notice of it posted at
the corners of the streets of Paris, and the news-

1 The Prince de Poix, who had defended and followed
the king on the loth of August.

During the French Revolution. ii

papers had stated that he had been guillotined.
One afternoon, in the month of October (the
loth), we saw approaching us quite a large body
of troops composed of Hussars and National
Guards from different villages of the estate of
Mouchy. It was preceded by a commissioner of
the Committee of General Security, named Landry,
who came to arrest my brother, believing that
he was concealed in the castle. We were sur-
prised, but not frightened. It was absurd to
suppose that he would have chosen his own fa-
ther's house for his hiding-place. They searched
everywhere under pretext of taking him and
of seizing arms, but they found nothing.

The official report made by the commissioner
and the municipality proves this.

The drawing up of the report and the search
lasted from five o'clock in the evening to eleven.
Landry called upon my father to denounce his
son, though he could not even know whether he
was alive or not. He answered with much dig-
nity that such a demand was as harsh as it was
unusual, and that he would not accede to it ; yet
he asked Landry to take something to eat, and
lent him one of his saddle horses to take him back
to his carriage. My father, who was naturally
very fiery, knew how to control himself when
the importance of the occasion required it.

12 Prison Life

The officer of the Hussars who commanded
the detachment was a very excellent man. He
told us that he was marching with his troop
along the highway from Beauvais to Paris ; that
being required by the commissioner of the Com-
mittee of General Security to accompany him to
Mouchy, he had been obliged to obey him,
though with great repugnance, and that he came
with the kindest intentions possible. He gave
me an immediate proof of this ; for he whispered
in my ear that if my brother was in the house
he would advise me to hasten his escape, and
that he would be very glad of it. I have re-
tained a feeling of real gratitude for this officer,
whose name I do not know ; he was from the
region of Rouen.

The intense animosity which was shown in
the attempt to capture my brother increased cur
anxiety concerning our own fate. A report,
circulated by the newspapers, that he was in
England somewhat allayed our anxiety ; and
Monsieur Noel (my father's man of business,
who has given proof of the strongest attachment
to our family) afterward assured us of its truth.
When he entered the drawing-room we were
much agitated, not knowing what news he was
about to announce to us.

Various accounts have been given of the

During the French Revolution. 13

manner in which my brother escaped the scaf-
fold. Some have said that he escaped from
prison by the payment of a hundred thousand
crowns to Manuel, then Procureur of the Com-
mune ; others, that he left Paris disguised as a
wagoner, and had been seen passing along
several roads.

The truth is that he was never arrested, and
that he found good and brave men who were
kind enough to hide him in their houses ; that
he remained for several hours in the very top of
the Louvre, stretched upon a beam, at the very
moment when the famous search of September,
1792, was made ; and that afterward he escaped
by means of a passport to Granville, where Mon-
sieur Mauduit, his son's old tutor, a naval com-
missioner, assisted him to embark for Dover.

Monsieur Mauduit was guillotined, but he
made no mention of my brother's affairs at his
trial. My poor brother, having sailed from
port, thought he had escaped death. A storm
compelled his vessel to return to the port. He
was obliged to hide himself in a place so close
that his suffering for want of air came near
causing him to betray himself. The search
ended just in time to save his life, and he again
set sail. It is also false that he used large sums
of money to get out of his danger. He was not

14 Prison Life

forced to spend more than two thousand crowns.
The knowledge that he was out of danger
diminished our daily increasing anxiety.

We had peaceful consciences, but the condi-
tion of affairs was becoming very threatening,
and the future very disturbing. We often talked
it over. I had the comfort of alleviating the
situation of my dear parents, and they showed
great pleasure in receiving my attentions. I
concealed from them the terrible thoughts which
constantly came to my mind, and occupied my-
self in distracting them from those by which
they were sometimes agitated. We had not
even the consolation of religious worship, the
curate of the parish having taken the oath to
the civil constitution exacted from the clergy ;
but we had had until our arrest opportunity to
hear Mass from a Catholic priest. I prayed to
God with all my heart for grace sufficient to en-
dure all the terrible things that I foresaw in our
future experience. About the i^th of August,
1793, CoUot d'Herbois and Isore were sent en
mission into the Departments of the Aisne and
the Oise. They immediately put into execution
there the decree regarding suspects, though this
was not done in Paris until the i8th of the fol-
lowing September. Consequently all the priests
and nobles were arrested. On the 23d of

During the French Revolution. 15

August the municipality of Mouchy notified us
of the order to remain under arrest in our resi-
dences until the houses of confinement were
ready to receive us. The mayor, who was a
zealous patriot, disposed to enforce an extreme
rather than a moderate execution of the severe
laws, told us that this was a measure for the
public safety, — a phrase much in use during
the Reign of Terror, — and that we need not be
alarmed. We were allowed a space of a hun-
dred paces in the park to walk in, and the free
use of the courtyard, provided the grating was
closed. We went there sometimes to talk with
the people. This way of living was only an ap-
prenticeship to the slavery that was impending.
One quite singular fact was that, the population
of Mouchy being small, our own dependents
acted National Guardsmen, and stood sentinel at
our gates. I suppose there were those among
them who took pleasure in doing this ; for
charity's sake I pass over their conduct in
silence.

A very few of them, however, gave my pa-
rents strong proof of their attachment. I will
give a list of their names at the end of these
memoirs.

The municipality of Mouchy sent a petition
to the Department of the Oise, asking to be

1 6 Prison Life

allowed to keep us within its limits and on its
own responsibility. It referred in kindly terms
to our wise and prudent conduct, and to our
submission to the laws. The Department of
the Oise acceded to the petition relative to my
parents ; but they did not consider me old
enough, and it had been said at Beauvals that
they wished to have a titled woman at Chan-
tilly. Consequently a sergeant of the national
gendarmes came with four horsemen to take me
to Beauvais. I was at that moment sick in bed.
The village surgeon, named Marais. and my
fathers physician considered that I was in no
condition to be moved ; but their attestations
were not sufficient, and the sergeant sent for the
physician of the Department, who decided that
it was necessary for me to remain at Mouchy,
and drew up an official paper in regard to my
condition. I remained about five weeks to re-
cuperate, during which time several petitions
were sent to the Department in my favour.
Monsieur Legendre went to see Collot d'Her-
bois and Isore. But all these efforts were
fruitless.

I was so fully persuaded that I was going to
be incarcerated that I packed up all my belong-
ings, and hoped that my punishment would suf-
fice for all. It cost me great suffering to leave

During the French Revolution. 17

my honoured parents to whom I had the com-
fort of being useful.

I was a little better, and had been for a few
days going down into the courtyard to take the
air, when I saw a man arrive dressed in the uni-
form of the National Guard, — he was the com-
mander of the Guard at Beauvais, and his name
was Poulain. I immediately suspected with
what mission he was charged, and arranged with
him that my parents should not know of the
time of my departure. We agreed that at a
signal which he would give me I should under
some pretext leave the drawing-room and not
return to it. It was important that my parents
should not undergo too much emotion. I went
up to them quietly and told them of my arrest.
At first they bore the announcement bravely. I
avoided saying anything to them which could
agitate them, and conversed with the officer
upon ordinary subjects. He searched neither
my packages nor my papers. At last the mo-
ment came when I was obliged to leave them.

I seemed to foresee that I should never again
behold my parents.

I went away, saying nothing, but feeling
broken-hearted. I felt as though my limbs were
giving way under me. And that scene of grief,
which I am describing on the very spot where

1 8 Prison Life

it took place, still causes me deep emotion as I
recall it ; but there are feelings which it is im-
possible to express. I have been told since,
and Madame Latour also relates it in her jour-
nal, that my father and mother remained in a
frightful state of dejection ; they would take
no nourishment, and passed the nights weeping
and constantly reiterating that they had been
deprived of half their existence when their dear
daughter was taken away.

It was on the 6th of October, 1793, that I left
Mouchy at five o'clock in the evening, in one
of my father's carriages, with Monsieur Poulain
and my maid. We reached Beauvais after a
drive of two hours. The carriage tilted as we
drove along ; the officer endeavoured to assure
me there was no danger. I somewhat insolently
replied, ' I fear God, dear Abner, and have no
other fear.' ^

I was, however, suffering intensely inwardly.
Fortunately the darkness concealed the tears
that fell from my eyes. I prayed Heaven
earnestly to sustain my courage.

The officer had orders to have me alight at
the prison. He went to the Revolutionary com-
mittee to ask permission for me to spend the
night at his house ; it was granted him. I
1 A line of Racine. — Tr.

During the French Revolution. 19

learned afterward that this kind act, done with-
out my knowledge, and the irreproachable
manner in which he had treated me had brought
persecution upon him, and that he had been
obliged to flee from Beauvais. His wife re-
ceived me very politely. She tried to make me
take some supper ; I accepted a very little, but
it may easily be imagined that my appetite was
not of the best. I passed a wretched night.
The desolate situation of my parents weighed
constantly upon my mind and heart, — their age,
their loneliness (they who so short a time before
had been surrounded by so many relatives and
friends), and the uncertainty of their future,
which left so much to be feared.

I did not have the grief of awakening, so
terrible to the unhappy, I received all sorts of
care from my kind hostess, who had me break-
fast with her husband and herself. After that I
set out for a convent of nuns of the third order
of Saint Francis, which was occupied by some
sick soldiers, and by prisoners who were placed
here temporarily until a sufficient number were
collected to form a convoy and be sent to Chan-
tilly. I entered a drawing-room where the
company was assembled ; it was composed of
ecclesiastics, a few nobles, and some women.
The most important ones were, among others,

20 Prison Life

a man named Poter, head of the manufactory of
Chantilly, a nun, a sutler, etc. They scrutin-
ized my countenance. I took pains to please
my new companions, and then asked to be con-
ducted to my lodging-room, which was a former
linen closet, far away from every one, so that if
I had wanted anything it would have been im-
possible for me to make myself heard.

Monsieur Allou, our neighbour from Mouchy,
who frequently came to see my parents, ren-
dered me all the service in his power, and per-
suaded me to have a young girl, a prisoner,
sleep in my apartment. I agreed, though with
extreme reluctance, for I greatly preferred being
alone. Sad thoughts prevented my sleeping,
besides my being so unaccustomed to lying upon
sacking for a bed. I at once had to give up
the habit of having a light, upon which I was
very dependent ; but being destined to undergo
great privations. I from that moment renounced
the conveniences of life and set myself to learn
how to attend to my own wants. As a begin-
ning, I made some chocolate, which was hor-
rible. Seeing my incapacity, I took some
lessons, and after a day or two I ventured to
invite one of my neighbours to breakfast ; and
she felt herself obliged, for politeness' sake, to
praise my new talent. I arranged my employ-

During the French Revolution. 21

ments so that the days might not seem so long.
I read, I wrote, and I fixed a certain time to
walk in the cloisters. They were always filled
with the odour of sulphur, which was much used
in the house for treating the soldiers afflicted
with the itch. The air was not good on account
of the gutters of stagnant water which crossed
the yard. We were not allowed to go into the
garden ; it was appropriated to the use of
the convalescents. The old chapel of the nuns
was still in existence, and most of the prisoners
went there to say their prayers. I sometimes
thought how great in the eyes of Heaven must
be the difference between us and the pure spirits
who had gone there before us. They had
voluntarily given up their liberty to consecrate
it to God, while I felt that the loss of mine was
a great sacrifice. Formerly the walls of this
sacred place echoed only the praises of God,
and now within them the soldiers blasphemed
undisturbed. One day while I was at confes-
sion I was deafened by the songs of the Terror,
the guardhouse of the Revolutionary army being
just back of my room.

Among the prisoners there were some vener-
able priests, who set us an example of perfect
submission to the will of Providence. I tried
hard to imitate them. Shortly after my arrival

22 Prison Life

at St. Francois the steward of Mouchy, named
Legendre (whom I shall set down at the end of
these memoirs among those persons who have
been most devoted to us), was arrested and
thrown into our prison on account of his attach-
ment to my parents. I was particularly dis-
tressed at this, because if I had sent warning to
him at Beauvais when Monsieur Poulain came
to arrest me at Mouchy, he would have had
time to escape. I told him all I felt on this
point. I shall have occasion to speak of him
again more than once.

Upon a petition from Monsieur Poulain to
the Revolutionary committee of Beauvais, my
waiting-woman (Mademoiselle Dubois) was
granted permission to come for an hour each
day to St. Francois, to assist me in making
my toilet. To that I have never attached the
slightest importance ; but it was a real satisfac-
tion to me to receive through her some tidings
from my parents, and to send them informa-
tion concerning myself, and which they too
received with kindest interest. Imagine how
terrible a shock it was to me when I heard
through Monsieur Allou, our neighbour from
Mouchy, that they had been carried off on the
i6th of October, by order of the Committee of
General Security and taken to Paris to the great

During the French Revolution. 23

prison of La Force. I knew none of the de-
tails (they are recounted in Madame Latour's
memoirs), and was completely overwhelmed.
This poor man was moved also, and we wept
together. I had hoped that the advanced age
of my parents, their virtues, and the voice of
the poor would appease the anger of the estab-
lished authorities ; but Robespierre, having
learned that the great proprietors who had es-
tates in the environs, had retired to them, and
were living quietly upon them, resolved to drive
them away and have them put in prison.

My parents passed only twenty-four hours in
La Force. They were transferred to the Luxem-
bourg, which they left only to pass into eternity.

Every day I heard sad news through prisoners
who read the public papers, and who desired to
communicate it to me. I refused to listen,
thinking that to do so was only to incur addi-
tional pain. One day, when I was wondering
what my parents were undergoing, I saw enter
the cloister Monsieur d'Aryon, a captain of the
National Guard (a very honest man, to whom I
was afterward under many obligations), who
seemed anxious not to meet me, so entirely was
he dismayed by his mission. He sent a prisoner
to deliver to me my order of imprisonment, of
which the following is a copy : —

24 Prison Life

Beauvais, this igth of October,
2Sth day of the 2d month of
the year II. of the Republic.

You are informed that you are to start for
Chantilly on the night of this day, Saturday to
Sunday. You would do well to make all your
preparations to take with you everything abso-
lutely necessary to you.

If you have occasion to procure a carriage,
let me know.

(Signed) E. Portier, Michel,
Taquet, Dufour,
Procureur of the Commune.

To Madame Duras [la dame Duras], whose
irriage is at the Gold
if she wishes to do so.

carriaf^e is at the Golden Lion. She can use it

It was addressed to ' Madame Duras, St.
Francois.'

As soon as we had been informed of the order
to leave, we became anxious to know whether
all the prisoners at St. Francois were to be of
the party. Only a portion of them were des-
tined at that time for Chantilly. We passed
the whole day in packing our belongings. Mine
were taken there from Mouchy, which spared

During the French Revolution. 25

me for that time the worry of moving them, to
which I was afterward compelled to accustom
myself. I forgot to say that the keeper of
St. Frangois was the most humane of all under
whom I was placed. I could not determine
whether I was sorry or glad to change my
prison. Those to which I was going were
infinitely more wretched ; but I did not then
know their terrible methods.

About eleven o'clock at night we were told
to get into the carriage, but the train did not
start till midnight. It was composed of wagons
and carriages of different sorts. I took in mine
Monsieur de Reignac, an officer of the King's
Constitutional Guard, who was afterward guil-
lotined, a nun from the Hotel-Dieu at Beau-
vais, and my waiting-woman. My coachman,
to whom this journey was exceedingly distress-
ing, wept the whole way. We were escorted
by the Beauvais National Guard, part on foot
and part on horseback. As it was moonlight
the people came out in front of their doors to
hoot at us and throw stones at us. The train
which had preceded us had been insulted infi-
nitely worse. Monsieur Descourtils, an old
and very estimable soldier, who had on all oc-
casions rendered services to the town of Beau-
vais, and also Monsieur Wallon, the kind patron

26 Prison Life

of the poor, were treated in the most outrageous
manner.

Our procession moved so slowly, and we
stopped so often, that we did not reach Cler-
mont until eleven o'clock in the morning, after
having come six leagues. My nun, who was
not accustomed to travelling in a carriage, was
almost nauseated all the way. I read through-
out almost the whole journey.

We dined at an inn in Clermont. The people
watched us dismount with an expression of pity.
This feeling, which it is generally so undesirable
to inspire, gave us pleasure on account of its rar-
ity during the Reign of Terror. Nothing worthy
of remark took place during our short stay at
Clermont, unless it was the manner in which
we were guarded. Our escort, being obliged
to rest and get something to eat, confided us to
the care of the National Guard of the city,
among whom there were some prisoners who
had been placed there to increase the size of
the troop. The vicinity of Fitz-James made
me sadly recall memories of the past. I had
been so happy there from my earliest childhood ;
now nothing was left me but to regret it ; all
those with whom I had spent my life there were
either dead or gone away. But while I was
giving way to these sad thoughts, we were told

During the French Revolution. 27

it was time to leave. The train started, and we
reached Chantilly at three o'clock.

It would be difficult to describe the confusion
caused by the unpacking of the many vehicles
loaded with mattresses and other things belong-
ing to the prisoners, all thrown haphazard in
the court, without other order than to unload
them, and that the bundles should not be taken
upstairs till the next day, when there would be
time to examine them.

Consequently it was the custom to go to bed
on a chair the first night, after a very scanty
supper, or to accept the mattress of some
prisoner willing to deprive himself of it. As
we passed the iron grating at the entrance of
the place, I recalled the 2d of September, and
said to Monsieur de Reignac that it was quite
probable that we were being gathered together
to be made to submit to the same fate ; he
seemed to think so too. Several attempts had
been made to invent conspiracies, which had in
fact no real existence at Chantilly any more
than in other prisons. In order to render the
name prison less terrible, they were called
houses of arrest, of justice, of detention, etc. ;
but as during the Reign of Terror these words
were synonyms, I shall make use of them with-
out distinction. The whole party was taken

28 Prison Life

into a beautifully gilded chapel, where I had
heard Mass in the time of the Prince de Conde.
It was quite filled with bags of flour ; I found
one which was placed in a comfortable position,
and seated myself on it. Then the steward of
the house, by name Notte, member for the De-
partment of the Oise, mounted on the altar
steps to call the roll, holding in his hand the list
of those who composed the party ; he had on
his right a man named Marchand (who was the
son of a very respectable waiting-woman of my
aunt, Madame la Marechale de Noailles), an
agent of the Revolutionary army, who was in
the confidence of the Committee of Public
Safety. He seemed to take pleasure, as the
names of the priests and nobles were called, in
saying the harshest and most cutting things to
them. A village vicar from the environs of
Beauvais and I had the worst of it all. This
poor priest was quite in a tremor ; but as for
me, I did not mind it at all. This man Mar-
chand asked Nottd if he had taken care to see
that I was very poorly lodged^ and he replied
that he had selected for me the smallest room
to be had. When the roll-call was over. Made-
moiselle Dubois, my waiting-woman, asked per-
mission to remain in prison with me. The
commissioners refused her request, and de-

During the French Revohition. 29

clared their determination of sending away all
those not prisoners who up to that time had
remained in the place. She was much grieved
at parting from me. I was not sorry to give
her up, for I had been extremely worried to see
her suffering and deprived of liberty on account
of her attachment to me. I remember with
gratitude the feeling she showed for me at that
time, and I am very glad to record it in this
memoir. After a very long and wearisome dis-
cussion we left the chapel, quite curious to see
our new quarters. I was agreeably surprised
when they conducted me to a small room^ neat
and prettily gilded, where I was to be alone.
Nott6 had had the good manners to keep it for
me. I valued it the more when I saw the
lodgings of my travelling companions. Several
prisoners came to see me. I was not ac-
quainted with one of them. I seemed to have
been shipwrecked on an island inhabited by
good people. They welcomed me heartily, and
I was permitted to have my belongings, which
had come from Mouchy, sent up to me at once.
Consequently I had the pleasure of sleeping on
a bed, — a rare thing on the day of one's arrival.
Several of my neighbours were kind enough to
help me make it up. I was quite overcome,
and terribly fatigued. I received all these

30 Prison Life

kindnesses as graciously as possible, but was
impatient to be left to repose. Mademoiselle
de Pons, now Madame de Tourzel, came with a
message from her mother, asking me to supper ;
and Madame de Chevigne invited me to break-
fast next morning. I accepted the second
invitation with pleasure. I had never known
these ladies intimately. They were the only
ones belonging to the court who were in the
house. I had only met them at the houses of
my acquaintances.

The fatigue I had undergone the day before
made me sleep. I had scarcely risen when
Mademoiselle Lefevre, the sister-in-law of the
steward of Mouchy, came to my room to give
me information concerning the inhabitants of
our prison, and advice about my own arrange-
ments, — all of which was very useful to me.
It is a very sad thing to find oneself utterly
alone in the midst of a crowd. Monsieur
Notte paid me a visit ; I did not find his face
so severe as it had seemed on the arrival of our
party, when he stood beside the commissioner
of the Revolutionary army. He spoke pleas-
antly to me, and told me that, as the prisoners
were very much crowded in their lodgings, he
thought it best to put some one with me in a
little cabinet which was under my control. In

During the French Revolution, 31

order to enter it one had to pass through my
room. He allowed me to select the person,
and I chose the hospital sister who had come
from Beauvais with me. She was a good wo-
man, the daughter of a village farrier, without
education, but a great help to me in the daily
needs of life. I had an opportunity to show
her my gratitude for it all during a severe illness
of hers, when I acted not only as her nurse, but
also as her physician, as she was not willing to
see a doctor. She frequently gave me proof of
the fact that when one has not received certain
ideas in youth it is impossible to comprehend
some of the simplest things. I would alter my
phrases in every possible way in order to enable
her to understand what I meant, — among other
things respect for opinion, etc. She remained
with me until I was removed to Paris, and
was never annoying to me. This was a great
blessing, since our companionship was enforced.
I soon began to pay visits among our colony,
which was composed of very incongruous ma-
terial. There were priests, nobles, nuns,
magistrates, soldiers, merchants, and a large
number of what were called ' sans-culottes,'
from all parts of the country, and who were
excellent people. I had near me a mail-carrier,
a barmaid, and other domestics, whom I highly

32 Prison Life

esteemed. They had become greatly attached
to a venerable curate from Beauvais who lodged
with them. They called him their father, ren-
dered him many services, and took perfect care
of him during a serious illness which he had
while in prison. I first learned something of
the character and habits of our companions, and
which of them seemed most honest. They told
me that we had among us samples of all sorts
of persons and opinions. There were priests,
real confessors of Jesus Christ, to be revered
on account of their patience and their charity,
others who had renounced their profession, and
declared from the pulpit that they had formerly
only uttered fables. One of these unprincipled
priests, a man still very young, who had served
in a regiment, often said that he did not know
why he was kept in prison, for on every occa-
sion since the Revolution he had done whatever
he had been desired to do. When civic festi-
vals were given in the village of Chantilly he
had been the composer of couplets. He wore
habitually the national uniform. We had two
abbesses, — the abbess of the Parc-aux-Dames
and the abbess of Royal-Lieu, Madame de Sou-
langes, who was nearly eighty years old, and had
been under-governess to Madame Louise at
Fontevrault, and was tenderly beloved by her.

During the French Revolution. 33

During her sojourns in Compiegne the princess
used to go to see her every day. (Madame
Louise, daughter of Louis XV., a Carmelite at
St. Denis, had been brought up at the abbey
of Fontevrault, together with Madame Victoire
and Madame Sophie.)

I discovered, soon after my arrival at Chan-
tilly that loss of liberty unites neither minds nor
hearts, and that people are the same in prison
as in the world at large, — jealous, intriguing,
false ; for there were among us many spies, — an
epithet, however, which was often lightly be-
stowed. I endeavoured to be polite to every
one, and intimate only with a very small circle.

I made some visits every day, and received
visitors after dinner, during which time I also
worked. Sometimes some patriots whom I
recognized quite well, pretended to be aristo-
crats, so as to make me talk; it was without
doubt the most disagreeable part of the day.
The time passed without great weariness, for I
filled it up with prayer and reading, and a little
walking in a courtyard, walled on four sides, and
very dreary looking. At first we were able to
go to the grating and talk with persons outside;
but it was not desired that we should do this,
and to prevent it planks were placed over the
grating. These concealed the outer view and
3

34 Prison Life

made communication impossible. On the third
story there were terraces on the leads, upon
which all our windows opened ; and these win-
dows, in several instances, also served as doors ;
only one person could pass through them at a
time. It was really a comical sight, this file of
prisoners, dressed in all sorts of costumes, and
going around and around like a panorama. We
were frequently obliged to stop on account of
the great number of promenaders. Mademoi-
selle de Pons, who played on the piano, accom-
panied on the violin by Monsieur de Corberon
(an officer of the French Guards, who was
afterwards guillotined), entertained us most
agreeably ; she occupied one of the apartments
of which I have just spoken. The view from
it was very pleasant, — the most beautiful rip-
pling waters, numerous villages, a superb forest,
fine buildings belonging to the chateau, and a
green lawn most charming to look upon. I
thoroughly examined every portion of our
prison. Several of the large rooms had been
divided by plank partitions which were only six
or seven feet high. Those who occupied these
compartments during the winter suffered exces-
sively from cold. In the rooms which were not
so divided there were put as many as twenty-
five persons. I noticed the arrangement of one

During the French Revolution. 35

of these communities, in which the curtainless
beds were placed so close together that during
the day the prisoners, in order to move around,
were obliged to pile them up on top of one
another. Here is a list of the individuals occu-
pying this room : A republican general and his
wife, a curate from Noyon, twenty-seven years
old, several young men, two estimable mothers
of families, with five or six daughters from four-
teen to twenty years. In another there were a
soldier with two or three nuns. The one next
to mine contained a general, called Monsieur
de Coincy, eighty-three years old, who still
retained his strength, his wife, his son, his
daughter, a nun of the Visitation, and Mesde-
moiselles de Grammont-Caderousse, the eldest
of whom was about fourteen. A special annoy-
ance in our prison was the mingling of the sexes
in the same lodging. I was the more thankful
for my little cell. Marchand, the commis-
sioner of the Revolutionary army, came to make
me a visit ; he found nothing to complain of in
the furnishing of my apartment, which was com-
posed of a servant's bed, two chairs, and a table.
The beds and the trunks served as seats when
the company was too numerous. Generally
luxury was an offence to him. I told him he
could find no fault with mine. I was mistaken ;

36 Prison Life

he answered that I as well as my parents had
once had too much of it. He went from one
end to the other of the place, and took it into
his head, in order to annoy those ladies who
seemed somewhat careful of their toilets, to
order them to have their hair cut off ; and he
also sent sans-culottes to sleep in their rooms.
These poor fellows were as much worried at this
as those who were compelled to submit to it.
They used to come as late as they possibly could
and go away very early m the morning. They
were very well behaved, with the exception of
a cobbler from Compiegne, of whom his hosts
complained bitterly ; he was ill-tempered and
annoying. One of his comrades, probably
better reared, came near dying of colic through
his politeness in not wishing to awaken those
with whom he was forced to lodge.

Care had been taken, in order to avoid too
active a correspondence between the prisoners
and outsiders, to send those who were inhabi-
tants of the district of Senlis to the abbey of
St. Paul at Beauvais, and those of Beauvais
to Chantilly. We could not write even to our
parents, nor could we receive news from them
without a great deal of trouble. Of all the
privations we were forced to undergo, this was
the hardest to bear. While Notte was at the

During the French RevoMion. 37

head of the house, the prisoners continually
complained of him, though our situation was
endurable. The wretched are naturally fault-
finding.

I assured them that if he went away it would
be worse for us ; and so it actually happened.
This man was passionate but not wicked. 1
had found out that one should never ask him
anything in the presence of other persons, be-
cause he feared lest they might be indiscreet ;
but in private he was quite accommodating. I
never had any reason to complain of him. By
one of the strange chances of the Revolution, he
is now in want, and at the very time when I
am writing this memoir, is soliciting my pro-
tection, which I would willingly grant him if it
were better worth having.

I was generally strictly obedient to the rules
of the household, and consequently had to en-
dure fewer annoyances than those who strove
to evade them. It is true that they changed so
frequently that it was difficult to keep the run
of them.

We were guarded at first by the gendarmerie,
afterward by the National Guard of Chantilly.
I was informed of this by a carpenter who, while
doing some work in my room, told me he was
now our military commander. I found it neces-

38 Prison Life

sary to ask his permission to do something the
next day, and I did so in such a serious manner
that Madame Seguier, who was present, could
not help laughing.

The Revolutionary army succeeded the Na-
tional Guard, and made its entrance into the
house in a manner suitable to the functions with
which it was charged. At ten o'clock in the eve-
ning we learned that there were cannon pointed
toward the chateau, and at the same moment
we heard the grating open amid songs which
sounded more like rage than joy. The van-guard
was preceded by cannon, drums, and torches.
Women mingled with the procession. The re-
frain of ' ^a ira, les aristocrates a la lanterne ! '
was repeated with stubborn animosity. My
neighbours were seized with terror, and rushed
trembling into my apartment. I reassured them
as well as I could without knowing why, except
that the feeling of fear is one to which I do not
readily yield.

When the troop had finished its dances and
songs in the courtyard, and gone through a
sort of march, it placed its sentinels and retired.
I had the full benefit of the performance, as my
windows opened on the courtyard.

I cannot now remember the exact time, but a
few days after the scene I have just described

During the French Revolution. 39

took place, several prisoners were sent to
the prisons at Paris, among them Monsieur de
Vernon, Master of Horse to the king, who
had gout in his hands^ but on whom they put
handcuffs. A curate named Daniel was sent off
with him. They were taken to the prison of
the Carmelites on the Rue de Vaugirard. A
party of thirty persons followed them immedi-
ately. Madame de Ponteves, seeing them
carrying off her husband, asked a commissioner
flamed Martin for permission to go with him.
He answered her roughly, granted her request,
and then separated them when they reached
Paris. One of them was put in the Made-
lonnettes, and the other in Ste. Pelagic. In
order to fill the prisons of Paris it was some-
times necessary to draw recruits from the
neighbouring prisons ; for this purpose dif-
ferent pretexts were made. Evil designs were
imputed to the prisoners, — such as anti-revolu-
tionary projects ; for instance, one was called an
agitator if he spoke to the keeper or to the com-
missioner in order to make known his wants.

When any one came to inspect us I kept in
the background. I was obliged, however, to
appear before Martin, the commissioner ex-
traordinary, who was accompanied by a man
with a red cap, and had a roll-call of all the

40 Prison Life

prisoners. He only asked me my name. A
sort of officer who was with them said that he
had dined once at the house of Monsieur de
Duras, at Bordeaux, and had been very well
entertained. I did not continue the conversa-
tion. Some of the prisoners pleaded their
causes, and petitioned to be allowed to go free.
I withdrew as soon as I possibly could.

Monsieur de Saint-Souplet, the king's es-
quire, who was constantly worrying about get-
ting the news, was taken away, arraigned befons
the Revolutionary tribunal, and perished on the
scaffold with his father, who was eighty years
old, and one of his brothers. He was de-
nounced by one of his servants ; but the latter
was guillotined with him for not having betrayed
his master sooner. We now began to hear of
a great many executions ; that of Madame de
Larochefoucauld-Durtal caused me intense sor-
row, and also made me extremely anxious for
the future. She was a widow of thirty years,
lived a most retired life, caring for her parents,
and occupied solely with their happiness and
with works of charity. She was carried off
from the Anglaises, where she had been im-
prisoned with her mother, who was very old
and extremely infirm. She was taken before
the Revolutionary tribunal as a witness for her

During the French Revolution. 41

uncle, Monsieur de TAigle, whose mind was
affected. He compromised her in consequence
of his weakness of mind, and the address of a
letter which did not belong to her was made
a pretext to remove her from the position of
witness to that of crmiinal. Sentence was
passed at once upon her. As something was
the matter with the guillotine that day, she
spent twenty-four hours in the record-office
awaiting her execution ; during this time she
lovingly and zealously exhorted her uncle to
meet death bravely. She assured him many
times that she forgave him for being the cause
of her own death ; and after having somewhat
aroused his senses, she showed him how to
die resignedly.

I could not understand how it was that the
prisoners who were every day hearing sad news
should feel the need of being amused. They
assembled to play with high stakes, have music,
dance, etc. A Monsieur Leloir, an architect
from Paris, and quite facetious, was the leader
of all the amusements. I was constantly in-
vited to join them, but always refused.

Notte was sent away from the place, and a
grocer from Chantilly, named Vion, became
our keeper. This was the golden age of our
house. Leloir had influence over him, and as

42 Prison Life

he was one of the prisoners, we reaped the
benefit of it ; but the commissioners of the
Revolutionary committees of the neighbouring
villages, the greater part of whom were em-
ployed about us, were able to persecute us.
In fact, any one could do so who chose to take
the trouble. I will give an example of this
which is ludicrous enough : A man named
Bizoti, employed as a wagoner, had the curi-
osity to pay us a visit, and took real pleasure
in abusing all the priests. There was an old
maid from Vandeuil, once fond of the chase, who
was in the habit of wearing a costume some-
what masculine, composed of a man's hat and
a dressing-gown. The wagoner-citizen said to
her : ' I know you ; you are a curate ; ' and then
he addressed to her the same abusive language
he had used to the priests. Loud bursts of
laughter followed this. I sometimes went to
see this spinster, who was very original.

I was very fond of the family of Monsieur de
Boury, a captain of the French Guards, who
had a wife and ten children. They are examples
of every virtue ; the father is truly religious,
honourable, and well instructed ; the wife is
sweet and good. The harmony that pervades
their life recalls that of the old Patriarchs.
They were entirely resigned to .the decrees of

During the French Revolution, 43

Providence, and preached to us by their example.
A number of pious prisoners used to gather in
their apartment for prayer and edifying reading.
In all the house it was the spot I enjoyed most.
It seemed to me that there one breathed purer
air than anywhere else.

My chief amusement was to watch from
my window the young people of fourteen
or fifteen, who played foot-ball in the court-
yard, forgetful of their captivity, and never
dreaming that execution could await them.
Alas ! the Terror laid hold on one of them.
Young Goussainville, only fifteen years old,
was beheaded with his father. Several of the
prisoners had brought their children with them,
even nursing babies. (Madame de Maupeou
was nursing one.) These children were of all
ages ; I could never understand how any one
dared bring them into houses so full of dangers,
to say nothing of the bad air. The laws now
forbid persons to be received among the pris-
oners who desire to be there for the purpose of
caring for those they love, which is very wise.
We had at Chantilly several examples of that
sort of devotion. The spirit of everything
there was, in general, better than in the prison
where I have since been.

Our keepers took a notion to put us at a

44 Prison Life

common table, and this custom was afterward
elegantly called ' eating in mess.' At first,
during our sojourn at Chantilly, we were fed
by eating-house keepers, established at the
chateau. The keeper Designon was one of
the number. He served, beyond comparison,
the worst fare to his customers ; but I took it
from motives of policy, knowing that he had
more consideration for those whose food he
furnished. He never failed in respect to me.
Although he was only the subaltern of the
commissioner, he arrogated the right to abuse
those of the prisoners who asked to change
their lodgings or to be less crowded together in
the rooms they were occupying. The new ar-
rangement was a calamity for him, since he had
contracted with the government to supply all
those who could not pay for their own food,
and of these there was a large number.

A table was set in the gilded gallery of the
Petit Chateau,^ without a cloth, and with two

1 This ' little chateau,' dated from the sixteenth cen-
tury, is one of the finest specimens of Renaissance archi-
tecture in existence, and was included in the gift of the
Due d'Aumale to the French nation (i8S6). The Grand
Chateau, where Conde had spent twenty years of his life,
and which was so famous for its literary associations with
the names of Moliere, Boileau, Racine, and La Fontaine,
was destroyed in 1793. — Tr.

During the French Revolution. 45

hundred covers. The tables were reset three
times, for there were many more than six hun-
dred prisoners in the house ; but the old and
infirm were allowed to remain in their apart-
ments. One of the tables was occupied by
priests and unmarried men, the second by
married people and children, the third by those
who were alone ; and this was my situation.
The places were all numbered, and each of us
had a duplicate number. When the bell rang,
we came like children going to school, with
baskets, in which were our plates, goblets, etc.
Often the previous dinner was not over, and
we had to stand a long time in groups in the
drawing-room, which was next the gallery.
We ate soup, which was only water with a
few lentils such as are fed to horses, grass for
spinach, sprouted potatoes, and a perfectly
disgusting stew called ratatoidllc. I suppose
that this word is not in the dictionary of the
Academy, and that the Institute is not likely to
put it there. We rose from the table hungry.
There was a very hearty young man to whom
we used to send all that was left at our
table, in order to appease his hunger in some
degree.

The members of the Revolutionary committee,
with the officers of our guard, marched around

46 Prison Life

our table with their red caps on their heads.
There was one of them — the peruke-maker for
the whole company — who watched us closely,
to see if any one abstained from meat. Under
such circumstances it was not easy to keep
Lent. Many persons, however, did keep it
strictly, although the grand vicars of the diocese
had exempted three days.

Our tables were surrounded by sentinels of
the Revolutionary army. I sometimes con-
versed with them. I found one among them
to whom his service was extremely disagree-
able. He was a servant whom want had
compelled to take such a wretched position.
He pitied us, and would willingly have afforded
some alleviation of our terrible condition. One
of the guards' duties was to accompany, with
drawn sabres, the washerwomen when they
came to bring and carry away our linen. This
performance was truly humiliating, and I made
some effort to avoid its most embarrassing
details.

One day a commissioner delivered a most
atrocious reproof to the keeper. He told
him that there did not enough prisoners die
in the house. In fact, through lack of care,
the bad food, and the incapacity of the health
officers, a great many would have died ; but

During the French Revolution. 47

Providence protected them, and their consti-
tutions held out much better than could have
been expected.

One day as we w^ere dining in the gallery of
the Petit Chateau, I recalled the beautiful
pictures which formerly adorned it, the armour
of the great Conde, pierced with bullets, his
victories represented by the great painters, all
the festivals I had attended in that place ; but
happily these ideas came to me rarely. I gener-
ally had there very commonplace thoughts ;
those which concerned my bill of fare, — such
as the endeavour to introduce into it, by means
of bribery, a pound of butter or a few eggs, —
absorbed me. In this connection I had a
very amusing encounter with our new com-
missioner, named Perdrix. This man had a
grotesque figure, and wore a costume not less
so. His former profession had been to paint
the dogs of Monsieur the Prince of Cond^.
He probably imagined it would add to his
dignity to be more severe than his predecessors.
We were allowed to speak to him only through
an opening made in the wall. I one day pre-
sented myself at this strange parlour to ask him
to allow me to have six pounds of chocolate
which he had held back ; he replied with dignity
that he would allow me exactly as much of it

48 Prison Life

as was good for my stomach. I assured him
that in order to have the dose exact the only
way was to have me breakfast every morning
with the surgeon, and said moreover, that I
wanted to give it to a s\ck man. He did not
grant my request, and I went away somewhat
angry at not being able to obtain the nourish-
ment which kept up my strength. My char-
woman, who fortunately was also his, brought
back to me the full supply the next day.

I will leave off these small details, and tell
how a poor soldier of the Revolutionary army,
the father of a family, being unacquainted with
Chantilly, arrived there in the night, and losing
his way, fell into one of the moats which sur-
rounded the castle. At daybreak some of the
prisoners saw the man struggling and scream-
ing. Monsieur de Bouquerolle, an officer of
the navy, who knew how to swim (he was the
eldest son of the much respected family of
Boury), started to go into the water after him.
The sentinel prevented his doing so, telling him
that it was a prisoner who had escaped, and
left the man to perish. His body was found
afterward, and it was recognized as that of one
of their own men. Monsieur de Corberon and
a curate asked that the body should be brought
into the house, in order to try the usual means

During the French Revolution. 49

of restoring the drowned to life. This was
granted them ; and they used every means in
their power for several hours, but without suc-
cess. After this act of cruelty one can imagine
how incensed the prisoners were. Well, they
had their revenge in taking up a collection for
the widow and children which amounted to six
hundred francs. These were the people who
during the Revolution were called criminals.

The parties sent off increased in number to
an alarming degree. Each day when one went
off we were filled with consternation. Hus-
bands were separated from their wives, mothers
from their children ; and those who had no in-
terests so dear had to regret some one of their
companions. We did not know where they
were taken, nor what took place in the prisons
at Paris. For my part, I imagined them to be
still worse than ours ; and I was quite right, in
spite of the continual vexations, hunger, and
daily anxieties which we experienced.

One evening as I was taking a walk on the
terraces in the delightful moonlight, which
gleamed over the forest and made the waters
sparkle, my ears delighted by the rippling
sound, my eyes taking in all the beauty which
surrounded me, I congratulated myself upon
being, after all, less unfortunate than a great
4

50 Prison Life

many persons whom I loved and respected.
The wretched situation of my parents came
over me at that moment so terribly that I shed
tears. I scarcely ever received news from
them, or from any of the friends who were dear
to me.

Eatables were forbidden to be brought to us,
lest letters should be concealed in them ; and
this reduced us sometimes to the necessity of
eating soup made of salt and water only.

The Revolutionary guard took it into their
heads to go on patrol from ten to eleven o'clock
in the evening. They put out the lights, and
made the prisoners go to bed. One day the
soldiers came with drawn sabres into the apart-
ment of Madame de Boursonne (former lady-
in-waiting to Mesdames), who was very ill from
hemorrhage, and had a constant fever. They
went up to her bed, examined her closely,
and said aloud • that they would not have the
trouble of visiting her long.' She came near
dying after they went out. These kind fellow-
citizens frequently had the goodness to forget
to come to see me, because they knew that my
cell was somewhat apart from the others.

Suddenly a party of forty prisoners were set
at liberty in accordance with a command from
their communes, under a law which granted the

During the French Revolution. 51

communes this right. There was general re-
joicing among those who departed, and sweet
hope for those who remained ; but it was seen
that by this means the prisons would be emptied,
and the law was repealed. I was glad to take
leave of two good Sisters of Charity from
Noyon, thinking of all they would do for the
poor whom they cared for so tenderly ; but
scarcely had a few prisoners been set at liberty
when a larger number came to replace them.
The districts of Beauvais, Noyon, Senlis, and
Compi^gne were most zealous in gathering re-
cruits. We never had any vacancies. One day
I met an old nun whom I did not know, bent
with age and infirmities, who seemed to be suffer-
ing terrible pain in the side of her face. One of
htr companions told me that as she was getting
into the wagon which brought her to Chantilly
she made the sign of the cross ; and one of the
soldiers of the escort was so indignant that he
gave her a frightful blow on her cheek which
broke several of her teeth. How horrible I I
took great pleasure in visiting these holy virgins,
who were inconsolable at being compelled to
leave their retreats where peace and innocence
reigned. In order to console them for this,
they were lodged so close to the coarsest men
in the house that they constantly heard things

52 Prison Life

said which made them very unhappy. They
endured their strange and terrible situation with
perfect resignation, and never failed to read
their office as though they were in their
convent.

My companions in misfortune differed very
much ; there were some who, in the hope of
obtaining their liberty, undertook the r6le of
informer. Several of them tried to sound me ;
they were not rewarded for their trouble.
When they told me tales I would not listen, but
immediately changed the conversation.

One thing which astonishes me as I look
back is how little I suffered from ennui during
my captivity. My thoughts were confined
within a very narrow sphere. They dwelt upon
my regret at being separated from those ^
loved and upon the needs of my daily life.
The want of exercise, which is absolutely neces-
sary to me from habits contracted in my child-
hood, gave me too great fulness of blood. I
had violent rushes of blood to the head, and
also rheumatism. Once on awakening I felt so
stunned that I called the hospital nurse, who
lodged near me. She thought I was dying, and
went for help. This condition, which was
really dangerous, was relieved by vomiting. I
fell asleep ; and when I woke I found myself

During the French Revolution. 53

surrounded by kind people, to whom I acknowl-
edged my gratitude, and then burst into tears.
They did not know what to make of it. I
excused myself, and explained to them that
once several years before I had had a similar
attack, when I was surrounded by friends and
relatives, and now I was terribly alone. I re-
gained my composure, and then went out into
the air.

The weak condition to which I was reduced
made me unable to restrain the feelings and
emotions which these sad memories aroused,
though generally I have an aversion to speaking
of what grieves me. The health officer of the
prison was sent for ; he was a violent revolu-
tionist, small, very dark, uneducated, and
dressed in a carmagnole, the uniform of the
sans-culottes. Being difficult to bleed, I dared
not have him bleed me, although I was in great
need of it. He put leeches on my neck, which
eased the pains in my head.

Very disturbing news reached us from Paris,
and those were the only tidings which could
come to us. It was reported that we were to
be interrogated by means of blanks, which must
be filled up. I had a great dread of this kind
of torture on account of my love of truth, which
might compromise both myself and others.

54 Prison Life

Heaven did not allow them to realize this base
project.

One of the prisoners died from the mistaken
treatment of that imbecile surgeon^, who, without
asking him if he had hernia, gave him an emetic,
which caused his death in twenty-four hours.

The treatment of the sick was terrible ; no
medicine was given them, no one was ap-
pointed to nurse them, and even the prisoners
were forbidden to show them any attention. I
once saw five cases of putrid fever in one room.
A respectable girl from Cr^py, who stayed in
the apartment, was obliged to spend every night
waiting on the patients. A good schoolmaster,
who also was in the room, helped her as well as
he could. I have seen him since, with great
pleasure, and I entertain a real esteem for
him.

Madame de Boursonne, who had recovered
from her illness, and from the visit of the revo-
lutionists, heard that Monsieur d'Ecquevilly, her
father, was dying at Amiens. One may im-
agine her great desire to go to him and hear his
last words ; but an insurmountable barrier was
placed between us and those dear to us. She
could only hope to hear frequently from him,
being very near him ; but our keeper, Perdrix,
refused even this, and kept all letters addressed

During the French Revolution. 55

to her. After a fortnight of terrible suspense
had passed, he sent for her to come to him ;
this was for the purpose of reading to her, in the
presence of every one, the letter announcing the
death of her father, without even allowing her
to have it, which at least would have given her
the consolation of learning the details. Poor
Madame de Boursonne was in a terrible state.
I did everything in my power for her, and took
her back to her own room.

One day as I was sitting alone in my chamber
some officers of our guard came in with Monsieur
Lambert, the Commissioner of War. The dread
of something frightful was the first thing that
flashed across my mind ; but I was mistaken
in my fear. This Monsieur Lambert, to whom I
had rendered services under the old regime, had
expressed a desire to see the place and my little
cell. I made no sign of recognition because of
the fear I had always had since the Revolution
of compromising those who wished me well.
When the officers were going out he let them
pass before him, and said to me that if I had
need of his services and wished to send off any
letters he would take charge of them, and would
be delighted to do me any kindness. I cannot
tell how touched I was by this proposition, which,
however, I was unwilling to accept. During

56 Prison Life

the Reign of Terror the slightest kindness of-
fered to persons of our rank was so dangerous
that I still feel grateful to him for his good
will.

Perdrix did not spoil us. Several of us asked
him for a copy of our entry in the jail-book ;
this seemed a small favour, but we could not ob-
tain it. The clerk of the commune of Chantilly
came quite frequently to the chateau, in order to
give certificates of residence. He showed a
sort of interest in the prisoners. Whenever
they were not harshly treated it was on account
of the natural amiability of individuals. Mon-
sieur Wallon, of Beauvais, having confidence in
the clerk, commissioned him to procure some
money for him ; he accepted the commission
graciously, and disappeared. I never should
have imagined it necessary to have one's resi-
dence in a prison certified. It seemed to me
that to make a list of those who were there
would have been sufficient ; but it turned out
very well for me that I took the precaution I
thought superfluous, as I was inscribed upon
the list of imigrds during my imprisonment.

I was not pleased at the reception given a fat
curate from Noyon who had apostatized, and
had denounced and caused to be imprisoned a
good many of our fellow-prisoners. He was

During the French Revolution, 5/

hooted at from the head of any stairway he at-
tempted to ascend ; and the crowd pushed him
back, and used syringes upon him. I was very
sorry to see a man so lost to principle among
us ; but I should have preferred not to see any
unfortunate being insulted. Any one is unfortu-
nate who has lost his liberty ; and those who are
wicked are the most to be pitied under such
circumstances. I was sorry also for those who,
instead of thinking of more serious things, fed
themselves with vain hopes concerning the
future, and the possibility of shaking off their
fetters.

I grew accustomed to living at Chantilly, and
my companions in misfortune treated me with
great kindness. Madame de Seguier and Made-
moiselle le Caron de Troupure, now Madame
Flomond, both amiable and excellent women,
were a great comfort to me. I tried to help
those who needed courage. The Coincy family,
who lodged near me, were good company. I
had great consolation from a religious point of
view. A venerable priest undertook to confess
me, and even to give me the communion. He
had had the courage to bring a large supply
of consecrated wafers, and had kept them in
spite of the danger he ran should the fact have
been discovered.

58 Prison Life

I was quite content with my fate, since I was
compelled to endure a hard one. 1 could not
have asked to be in a better prison ; Provi-
dence had placed me there, and six months
sojourn had accustomed me to it.

Toward the end of March, 1794, I received
a letter from my mother, full of kindness, but
which grieved me very much. She told me that
she had thought it astonishing that I made no
application to the government commissioners
who came to Chantilly, to be allowed to join
her. This intimation seemed to be an order
and a command of Providence which altered my
destiny. I immediately inquired when Citizen
Martin, who inspected our house^ was to come.
I presented him a petition, asking to be sent
to the Luxembourg by the first train destined
for Paris. He assented, and then occupied
himself in getting ready a most atrocious party,
composed of young girls who were torn from
the arms of their mothers without knowing for
what they were destined.

Many persons believed, and it was really
talked of, that the intentions of the Terrorists
was to marry them to sans-culottes. To this
party were added some priests, women, laymen,
etc. The unhappy mothers were in despair. I
was a witness of the scene with Madame de

During the French Revolution. 59

Pons (formerly Vicomtesse) at Perdrix's apart-
ments. She fell on her knees before him and
before Martin ; she said everything to them
that the desperation of such a moment could
suggest, using the most touching expressions ;
they would listen to nothing. She fell fainting
at their feet. After she recovered her con-
sciousness, she implored to be permitted at
least to follow her daughter ; they refused her.

I forgot to say that a moment before Madame
de Pons came to see Perdrix the latter had sent
for her daughter, and in the presence of Martin
and two gendarmes said to her, ' What is your
name ? '

' Pons.'

* Yes, but give your Christian names.'

' You should speak to my mother ; I will go
for her.'

' No, no ; I ask you for your names.'

' There they are. May I know what use you
have for them ? '

' You will leave here with other prisoners
to-morrow, to go to another prison.'

' V/ithout mamma I O God ! what will be
my fate ? '

'Go, or I will have you carried out.'

' Madame de Pons wrote several letters to
Martin, asking only for a . delay ; she offered

6o Prison Life

all her property to the Republic; and the
only answer she received was, * Your daughter
must go I '

I busied myself in arranging my trunks and
packing them for the Luxembourg, so as to have
with me only what was strictly necessary. On
the 3d of April, 1794, we were told to hold
ourselves in readiness to leave the next day or
the day following, as the carriages were ex-
pected. My travelling companions were in de-
spair at leaving their parents, but I delighted at
going to see mine once more ; every one said
pleasant things to me. I received many testi-
monials of interest and regret from the prisoners.
There were some from whom I was grieved to
part, and a secret presentiment (though gener-
ally I do not believe in them) seemed to warn
me that the reunion with m.y parents would
never, be effected. The days of the 3d and
4th were passed in leave-taking. I did not
know that the train was to start early on the
5th, the anniversary of the birth of my son. I
was summoned at ten o'clock in the morning.
I found the wagons almost full ; consequently I
had a wretched seat next a vile woman who
boasted of being a friend of Robespierre, and
told us that she would receive on the way some
marks of public interest. She sat almost half

During the French Revolution. 6i

on top of me ; and to add to our suffering, the
straw which is usually put in the bottom of the
carts for calves, was left out. When we left,
the courtyard was filled with our companions
in misery, who were mourning and sighing over
our fate. They concealed their tears, fearing
to let them be seen.

Our procession stopped as it passed out of
the gate, in order to have the roll-call, lest
some prisoner should have escaped ; we were
as accustomed to it as the soldiers were. We
were surrounded by the National Guard, and
remained an hour under the windows of the
chateau, in sight of mothers disconsolate at the
removal of their daughters, and who, with their
hands raised to heaven, were giving them their
blessings. That sad sight is still distinctly be-
fore me. How many of those who gave those
blessings and of those who looked on were
sacrificed on the scaffold 1 I should like to be
able to depict and describe fully all that terrible
and touching scene, but I cannot. As for
me I was terribly overcome, but I struggled to
hide it.

The train was put in command of a printer's
apprentice from Beauvais, who went ahead of
us. The first cart was filled with young
girls, the second with women, and three others

62 Prison Life

with men. The vehicles were surrounded by
musketeers. We started at eleven o'clock in
the morning, in very bad weather. A terribly
cold wind was blowing, and there were no
covers to our wagons.

At the entrances of towns and villages our
escort was gathered together, and we entered
with dignity, drums beating.

In some places, particularly at Creil-sur-Oise,
gestures indicating the cutting off of the head
were made to us. In a village called La Mor-
taye a dozen persons suddenly appeared, who
came to see my heavy neighbour, and whispered
to her that she would not be much longer in
prison.

When we reached Mesnil-Aubry we were made
to get out at an inn, — that is, the women and
young girls at one, and the men at another. It
was Saturday. I obtained the favour of an
omelette. Immediately after dinner it was de-
manded of us that we should pay on the spot
the expenses of our removal ; I refused to do
this, saying truly that I had no money. Mad-
emoiselle de Pons obeyed, and gave a hundred
and ninety-two francs. The women whose hus-
bands were in the train asked permission to go
to see them while the horses were resting, but
could not obtain it. The notorious Martin, of

During the French Revolution. 63

whom I have already had occasion to speak
several times, came to inspect us, and placed
himself at the head of our train when it started
off. He was in a gilded bcrline, drawn by post
horses, and seated in front was a small clerk,
about twelve years old. I said to myself, ' Un-
fortunate child, what an education this Terrror-
ism is ! ' Along the way he reviewed us as though
he were a superior officer, going from end to
end of our melancholy column, to see if it was
coming up in order. Sometimes our horses
began to trot, and we were terribly jolted.
As we were approaching Paris, my side, which
was pressed against the wagon, with nothing
between, began to hurt me very much. My
love of books, and the fear of being without
them, had caused me to fill two pairs of pockets
with them, and they thumped against me. If
we had been obliged to go any farther I should
have been compelled to change my position, but
I could not make up my mind to ask any favour
of the friend of Robespierre.

The train stopped about eight o'clock in the
evening at St. Denis. Martin left us. The
officer of the guard separated the men from the
women, in order to take the former to the Lux-
embourg. It began to rain, and continued un-
til we reached Paris. Our conductors did not

64 Prison Life

know the streets. We implored them to tell us
where we were going ; their reply was that they
knew nothing about it. After driving us around
until eleven o'clock in the darkness, they came
to the gates of the Madelonettes. We had
great difficulty in making the porter hear, and he
said that no women were received in that house,
that Ste. Pelagic, which was set apart for them,
was quite full, but that we would find room m
the Plessis, an old college of the University,
Rue St. Jacques, next to that of Louis-le-
Grand. Our guards, who were but human,
were overcome with fatigue, and impatient to
put us down in some prison or other. I saw that
we were taking the way to the Conciergerie ;
then frightful thoughts rushed over me, and also
a suspicion that our end was near at hand if we
were to be confined there. But we passed by
without stopping, and I felt more tranquil the
remainder of the way.

The gate of the College du Plessis was the
end of our journey. Our conductor knocked
there a long time without attracting any notice ;
perhaps no one heard, or perhaps the porter did
not wish to be aroused. It was one o'clock. At
last in the darkness the gates were opened ;
we did not know where we were. I feared lest
the cart in which the young girls were had been

During the French Revolution, 65

separated from the train. I perceived it as we
were entering the courtyard, and had a sad satis-
faction in seeing them again even in so wretched
a place. We passed under an archway and stop-
ped. Our guards were kind enough to assist
us to descend from our rude vehicles ; we should
scarcely have had strength to do so without their
help, weary and bruised as we were from our
fourteen hours' journey.

The first object to attract my attention was a
man dressed in a sort of dressing-gown, who
said he was the porter. He had an enormous
bunch of keys hanging from his belt, and car-
jied a lantern, by the light of which I saw grat-
ings, enormous bars of iron, heaps of stone
and other materials, — in short, the general ap-
pearance of a prison which was being enlarged.
We were taken through several gratings, and
were immediately surrounded by drunken jail-
ers,— great heavily built men, half naked, with
their sleeves rolled up, and red caps on their
heads, and whose speech was suited to their
costumes. I trembled at the sight of these
creatures, who seemed to wish to be familiar
with our young girls. I immediately proposed
to the ladies who came with me that we should
each take one of them under our care, so as to
protect them against this vulgar herd. They
5

66 Prison Life

agreed to my proposition. Mademoiselle de
Pons, who has since married Monsieur de Tour-
zel, fell to my charge. I warned her not to get
behind me, but to hold on to my dress, and not
leave me for a moment. One of the jailers, who
was a regular Goliath, began to read the list of
those who composed our train, and could scarcely
decipher it. Detention in the gate-house being
impossible, he conducted us to a large hall
where there was not a single pane of glass in
the windows, and only wooden benches to sit
on. We were suffering terribly from thirst ; the
worst of the jailers, named Baptiste, brought
us a bucket of water, which we hailed with
intense delight. A moment after he brought
another for other purposes. The visit of this
man, Baptiste, was accompanied by speeches
such as we had never before heard, and which
filled me with horror, particularly on account of
our young friends. About two o'clock in the
morning our keeper appeared ; he had been ab-
sent when we arrived. His name was Haly ;
his face was pale and livid. He smiled as he
saw the young girls, and said to them, ' My chil-
dren, you have not yet been entered in the jail-
book. I keep you here only for humanity's sake.
This house is at the disposal of the public ac-
cuser, Fouquier-Tinville, and is only destined

During the French Revolution. 67

for the anti-revolutionists ; you do not seem to
be such. To-morrow your report will be made
out, and I will inform you of your destination/
Every one tried to speak to him. I had my
turn, and told him that as I had never been
denounced I was only to be classed among the
suspected ; that I ought not to be kept in his
prison ; and that I had left Chantilly in order to
be transferred to the Luxembourg. I implored
him to have me sent there. Several persons
told him he had no right to keep us ; he paid no
attention to what they said, and had the mat-
tresses, which had been brought in the wagons,
brought in. I had not taken the precaution to
bring one, and consequently passed the night
seated on a small wooden bench, occupied in
trying to conceal the small amount of paper
money I had with me. I did not sleep a moment ;
neither did my companions. As the day dawned
I saw with delight that our young girls were
sleeping sweetly and peacefully. I said to my-
self, ' At their age one has had neither the ex-
perience of misfortune nor the anxiety born of
foresight.' The thought of seeing my par-
ents during the day cheered my sad heart. It
was extremely cold. Baptiste came in, accom-
panied by several of his comrades, who regarded
us with a ferocious sort of pleasure, judging

6S Prison Life

that we were good recruits for their house, and
that they would have a good share of our purses.
One of them, a former lackey of Madame de
Narbonne, recognized me, and behaved very
properly toward me. A gendarme, whose name
I never learned, came up to me and whispered
in my ear, • Hide your money and your jewels.
They will leave you only fifty francs in paper
money, and will take away your knives and
your scissors. ' I thanked him, and he retired.
Although the great mental agony we endured
caused us to pay but little heed to our physical
needs, we nevertheless became extremely hun-
gry. We had taken nothing to eat since the
day before, and had endured excessive physical
and mental fatigue. We petitioned our jailers
for food, and after keeping us waiting two hours
thev brought us some coffee and chocolate. I
breakfasted with the pleasant feeling of alle-
viating suffering for a moment at least. Martin
came in afterward to get a cloak which had
been lent to Madame de Vassy ; he looked at
us sternly. Several went up to him to ask some-
thing of him, among. them the young girls, who
were extremely anxious to let their mothers
know what had become of them. They gave
him some notes for this purpose, but these
never reached their destination.

During the French Revolution. 69

I implored the said Martin (I may speak of
him in this way under the circumstances) to send
me to the Luxembourg ; he gave me some hope,
but I regarded it as slender. His visit was soon
over. Up to this time the National Guard of
Chantilly had remained with us ; it was now
replaced by jailers who never left us. A new
face appeared ; it was an inspector named
Grandpr^, who had quite a pleasing counte-
nance. Being astonished at seeing us in this
prison, and a little touched by our forlorn situa-
tion, he promised to endeavour to have us trans-
ferred to a house for suspected persons, and me
in particular to the Luxembourg. Haly, our
keeper, now came in, and said that our fate had
been decided, — that we were entered on the
jail-book as agitators and as refractory to disci-
pline at the house at Chantilly. A cry of sur-
prise and grief arose, but our keeper was deaf to
all complaints. My companions deserved such
terms as little as I did ; and I declare that after
my conduct there, submitting as I did to all the
wishes of the commissioners, meddling with
nothing, complaining of nothing, being taken
to Paris at my own request, I was more com-
pletely astonished than I can express. The
false accusations were certainly the least of my
woes, — innocence easily consoles itself; but

70 Prison Life

to see myself deprived of the delight of rejoining
my parents made my heart ache, and all the
more because I was very sure that they would
fully share my sorrow.

We were obliged to resign ourselves to re-
maining under the immediate rule of Fouquier-
Tinville, shut up with those directly accused,
and consequently treated more severely than the
suspected. We remained fifteen hours in that
hall, into which we had been thrown rather than
conducted. If we went out for necessary pur-
poses we were escorted by two musketeers ;
most of us preferred to suffer rather than take
such a promenade. The day wore away ; we
saw a movement among our jailers. Following
the example of one of my pious companions, I
had got into a corner of the hall to recite my
mass and office. It was Passion Sunday ; fol-
lowing the example of our divine Master we
forgave insult, and tried to imitate his patience.

We were given to understand that we could
write and receive letters, a pleasure of which
we had been deprived at Chantilly. Mademoi-
selle de Pons received one letter, which gave us
some little hope. Toward evening a rumour
spread that we were to be searched and put in
lodgings. We sought new means of concealing
our watches and our paper money. The keeper

Dining the French Revolution. 71

ordered us to appear before him two by two to
be registered ; he then informed us that it was
the custom of the house to turn over to him all
scissors, knives, forks, and watches, because
such things could be used to file away the bars.
Afterward he demanded all our jewels and
money with the exception of fifty francs in as-
signats. He had the politeness not to search
us, saying that he would dispense with that out
of respect for us. I gave up to him all he re-
quired, except a few assignats and a small and
very ugly brass clock, which was precious to me
because it had sounded in my hearing the last hours
of the lives of my dear friends Mesdames de
Chaulnes and de Mailly. The keeper would not
leave it with me, in spite of the sorrow I assured
him I felt in giving it up, alleging the same rea-
son that he gave when he demanded the watches.
When this agreeable operation was over we were
told to follow the jailers. They made us mount
to the very top of the building, passing through
a grating on each floor, fastened by enormous
bolts and guarded by four men. We had to go
through these two at a time.

At last we reached our own rooms. Made-
moiselle de Pons had not left my side since we
reached Plessis ; we took the measure of our
habitation, and found that with some manage-

72 Prison Life

ment we had room enough for two beds, placing
the head of one at the foot of the other. This
sweet girl burst into tears when she saw our
poor little establishment, sat down on a mattress
beside me, and said, ' We shall surely die. It
is impossible to live in such a contracted place.
O God ! may none of my friends ever come
here ! '

I did my best to arouse her courage, which
had quite vanished, and to remove her dislike at
living so intimately with an old woman by assur-
ing her that I had no disease. Our furniture
consisted of two chairs ; our mattresses were on
the floor, and the wall served as our pillow.
Fortunately it was freshly whitened, and conse-
quently clean. The bolts were fastened, — a sad
moment ; for the sound they made told us that
until morning, no matter what happened, it was
impossible for us to receive any assistance.
We were told that a jailer of the guard would
answer if we called ; but I heard one of my
neighbours cry all night with pain, and no one
w^ent to help her.

My first night's rest was excellent. The in-
tense fatigue I had suffered the preceding days
made me sleep. My young companion slept
soundly and late. When daylight appeared I
found we had a fine view ; I could see the whole

During the French Revolution. 73

city of Paris. I reflected sadly upon the terri-
ble condition of my unhappy country, once so
far-famed as a place where one could spend
peaceful, happy days. I thought of all the
horrors which were being committed there ; the
tears rose to my eyes, but I dried them quickly
so as not to discourage Mademoiselle de Pons
when she first awakened.

About eight o'clock in the morning the bolts
were drawn and the keeper, Haly, came in, fol-
lowed by an enormous dog. This strange man
greeted us as though we were in one of the old-
time chateaux where abundance, peace, and
pleasure reigned. He even seemed astonished
that we were not charmed with the pleasant
lodgings he had given us. After he was gone,
and our companions' bolts were drawn, we ea-
gerly gathered together, and had no trouble in
finding one another, as the corridor on which we
were lodged was only three feet wide. The
first thing to be done was to arrange about our
meals. It was only after repeated requests that
we received permission to go down six steps to
get water. The jailer who had charge of us, as
well as his comrades, assumed the title of war-
den, thinking thus to render their office more
honourable, There were three classes of them,
and almost all were drunkards, selfish, rapacious,

74 Prison Life

Iving, while a few were absolutely ferocious.
We specially noticed one of them, who had ta-
ken part in the massacre of the 2d of September,
1792. This man, who at this time was our des-
pot, was a sculptor ; and I was astonished that
he should have accepted so miserable an em-
ployment. After he had granted us permission
to go for water, the need of having something
to eat made itself felt. The mess-table had not
then been established. I inquired how we could
procure provisions at a moderate price. An
eating-house keeper sent us our dinner ; but be-
fore he could reach the floor on which we lodged,
which was the highest in the house, the food he
carried was often taken from him as he passed
along on the other floors. Finding that I could
not possibly live in this way, I sent to learn
whether my dinner could be sent me every day
from my own house. Lucas, my father's former
clerk, was very anxious that this should be done ;
but it was very difficult to find any one in the
house who was willing to bring it to me, as it
was considered a dangerous thing to do, and
not very ' civic' At last an old postilion
named Lerot, whose name I mention with grati-
tude, had the courage to undertake it. A
neighbour of the Hotel Mouchy said openly in
the street, when she saw him go by, that it was

During the French Revolution. 75

not worth while taking me anything to eat be-
cause I was going to be guillotined. Two re-
spectable ladies clubbed together with me, and
we divided our provisions, — they furnishing some
also ; and we set about getting them cooked.
Mademoiselle de Pons did not find our fare
good enough, and joined with a woman from
Beauvais and two young girls.

I enter into minute details which would be
very tiresome if this memoir was intended to be
read by strangers ; but it is for my own rela-
tives that it is written, and I am too sure of the
interest they take in what I have suffered to
omit to mention the least thing.

The rules of our prison were extremely strict.
At eight o'clock in the morning the keepers
opened the doors; this was a truly agreeable
moment, — if I may use such an expression in
such a connection ; then they wrote our names
on the registers, but being so little accustomed
to such matters they never made the list as it
should be, and so were obliged to have the roll-
call two or three times a day. One moment
they ordered us to remain inside our rooms, and
another we were told to stand like sentinels at
our doors. The locking up, and ascertaining
that each prisoner was in her place, seemed a
more solemn affair. The keeper, followed by

*j6 Prison Life

the turnkeys, gendarmes, and some large dogs,
came about ten o'clock in the evening or at
midnight. This goodly company made pleasing
jokes and a great deal of noise. I always pre-
tended to be asleep, and made no reply to what
they said. It seemed sad that our sleep, which
alone had the power to cause us to forget our
troubles, should be interrupted by that sound
which most quickly recalled them.

During the first days after our arrival we spent
our time mostly in sending petitions to Fouquier-
Tinville, asking to be reunited to our families.
We have since learned that not one of them
reached him. I eagerly sought for some oppor-
tunity of sending or receiving communications
from my parents. At last I discovered that in
sending some trifling thing to the Luxembourg
I could add two or three lines, which at least
served to say we were alive. The notes were
sent open, and passed through the hands of the
registrars and jailers of Plessis and the Luxem-
bourg. I suffered intensely at having to inform
my parents that I should not have the consola-
tion of joining them ; they tenderly expressed
their deep regret for this. The sight of their
handwriting, after having been so long deprived
of it, moved me profoundly ; I received a few
words from them every two or three days.

During the French Revolution. 77

The commissioner, Grandpr^, fearing lest our
crowded condition should cause sickness, pro-
posed that we should take the air in the court-
yard. We had a great aversion to going down
a hundred steps, passing six grated iron doors,
preceded, accompanied, and followed by keep-
ers. We refused to do it for some time. Then
he told us that if we paid no regard to his re-
quest we should be charged with aristocratic
opinions ; consequently, we were obliged to
yield, and take the walk. The place appointed
for our promenade was very confined, enclosed
by plank fences, and surrounded by gendarmes,
who kept their eyes upon us. We found there
about twenty women who had come from the
Conciergerie, and who were lodged under us
without our knowing anything about it. After
conversing with them our fears were redoubled ;
for they gave us a most fearful account of that
terrible prison, which has been called the anti-
chamber of death. They told us that every day
a large number of victims for the scaffold were
sent from there, and that our house was consid-
ered a sort of annex to the Conciergerie. We
were entirely ignorant of what was going on
outside our cells. Madame de Vassy, a pupil
of J. J. Rousseau, and daughter of Monsieur
de Girardin, had induced a jailer named Launay,

78 Prison Life

the best of our keepers, to bring her some news-
papers ; but this was found out, and was consid-
ered an unpardonable crime. He was taken to
another prison and put in irons, and but for the
death of Robespierre would have perished.
This man, who is still living, actually wept when
he took us out on our compulsory airing, which
rather seemed like leading out a pack of dogs.
Rain or shine we were taken out for the pre-
scribed time. If some of us wished to go in
sooner than others, we were forbidden to do so,
and we were taken out whenever our keepers
chose. The men who lodged near the stairway
were obliged to retire when we passed in front
of their gratings ; but their windows looked out
upon the space where we were allowed, or
rather ordered, to walk, and there they often
recognized their wives and children, — all those
whom they loved, and of whose very existence
they were ignorant.

Only prisoners from Chantilly were now
lodged on our corridor. Among those who
came from the Conciergerie were Mesdames
de Grimaldi and de Bussy, from whom we had a
full account of all the horrors which were being
enacted there. A few days later Madame de
Bussy was carried off, to be indicted by the
Revolutionary tribunal ; but her case was not

During the French Revolution. 79

pressed, and she returned to Plessis. We were
just congratulating her on the subject when she
was sent for again, and led to the scaffold. She
had scarcely gone when the jailers seized upon
all her effects, and tried to sell them to us, — an
incident which shocked us greatly. We repelled
their disgusting proposition with horror.

The condition of affairs grew worse every
day. Parties came to us from all the Depart-
ments ; our prison was terribly crowded ; the
faces constantly changed. Those who arrived
told us of the death of persons of the highest
reputation. We questioned the keeper, but he
would give no explanation of the vague rumours
which reached us. I implored him once more
to effect my reunion with my parents, but with
no result. He replied to my earnest solicitations
compassionately, ' You do not know what you
are asking ; you would certainly not be better
off at the Luxembourg.' He seemed to foresee
the horrors which were to take place there.
Alas ! I was not thinking of the strictness of
the prison rule, but of the longings of my own
heart.

A garden was given us for our promenade-
ground instead of the courtyard surrounded by
the plank fence. One day as I was passing
very near the building in which we were living,

8o Prison Life

accompanied by Mesdemoiselles de Pons and
Titon, I saw them pick up a scrap of paper
which was thrown out of the vent-hole of an
underground apartment, the window of which
they had neglected to close. There were a few
lines written upon it, which were almost illegible,
but which we made out to be, ' Three unfortunate
beings, completely destitute, implore your pity.'
The paper was tied to a string, which was with-
drawn. Mademoiselle de Pons, much moved,
said to her companion, ' Is it possible that we
are surrounded by such miserable beings ? ' She
asked my permission to throw them some money,
and I granted it. She wrapped it in a tiny
package, and pretended to pick up a stone,
while Mademoiselle Titon let it drop quietly into
the dungeon. We heard a clapping of hands.
The eyes of the young girls filled with tears ;
and the evening was passed in the satisfied feel-
ing that they had been able, for a moment at
least, to render the situation of those suffering
creatures less wretched.

We never learned what became of them.

A month had passed since we left Chantilly
when a party arrived, among whom was Madame
de Pons, to whom I restored the precious
charge which I had been so happy as to keep
for her ; I was then left in sole possession of

During the French Revohition. 8i

o

my room, which I enjoyed very much. I was
informed that it was proposed to separate the
suspected persons from those indicted by the
Revolutionary tribunal, and to place us in a
building facing that we were now occupying.
This change seemed so advantageous to us that
we urged the keeper to carry it out as quickly
as possible. To do him justice, he behaved
very well on this occasion, using his influence
with the terrible Fouquier-Tinville to prevent
our being mistaken for the indicted prisoners,
and to effect our removal without delay. I re-
gretted for a moment the loss of the beautiful
view from my apartment ; all the fine buildings
in Paris were before me, — the cathedral, St.
Sulpice, the Val-de-Gr^ce, etc. I remembered
that on Easter Day, as I was grieving over the
thought that the holy sacrifice was no longer
offered up in those temples made so venerable
by their antiquity, and the prayers of the faith-
ful, I joined in the prayers of those whose faith
was strong, and who were sharing my sad
thoughts, and found that I was really more edi-
fied than I had often been on that holy day
when at the foot of the altar.

At last the order came for us to leave our
apartments, and carry our effects with us.
One person was sufficient to assist me in my

82 Piv'son Life

moving ; a wretched pallet, a straw chair,
and a few dishes composed my only furni-
ture. The moment of our departure was very
trying to those who remained still under the
power of the public accuser. Several of them
wept when we left them. The separation was
final.

"When I reached my new prison it seemed
to me a mansion, since there were only two
gratings instead of six, as before ; and as the
men were entirely separated from the women,
we were allowed to go all over the building,
from top to bottom, without a keeper. I was
lodged on the fifth floor, in what was called for-
merly ' the philosophers' warming-place.' The
names of the scholars were, as is customary,
written in charcoal on the walls ; I recognized
a few of them. There was a fireplace in this
pretty room, and I think it was the only one in
the corridor. It was immediately made use of
to warm all my neighbours' coffee-pots, which
occasioned a continual procession not at all
agreeable.

Before my detention, I had thought that a
prison would be at least a place of repose,
where I could give myself up to study ; but this
was not the case at all, at least not in those
where I stayed. Every moment the keeper, the

During the French Revolution. 83

jailers, the turnkeys, the purveyors, etc., came
in. We were made to go down to the clerk's
office to attend to our commissions. I could
not read one single hour without interruption.
One thing which I have heard spoken of, and
which I have certainly verified, is the habit pris-
oners have of being destructive. It arises from
their standing in need of a thousand things. I
had no shovel, so I broke a piece of slating and
used it for one ; I took a floor-tile for a lid. It
was very difficult to procure wood, so I burned
up my chairs. We could not send a keeper
down-stairs without paying him a hundred
sous.

In spite of the admiration inspired by my new
dwelling-place, I was forced to sigh for the one
I had left. We slept where the plaster was
quite fresh, which gave me such a raw sensation
in my throat that I could swallow nothing but
milk. On the stairways there was a very un-
wholesome smell of oil ; all the windows, above
and below, had been grated, and boards adjusted,
so as to make it impossible to throw letters out.
The outer aspect of our building was frightful.
We lost by our transfer the promenade in the
garden, and had instead one no better than in
the courtyard at Plessis, so that one could not
make up one's mind to go out except when it

84 Prison Life

was absolutely necessary to go in the open air.
The men and women went there at different
hours. They were shut in on every side ; and
walls had been erected so that the prisoners
could not be seen by their neighbours, and could
make no sign to them. One little alley-way,
however, which it was impossible to shut out
from our view^, allowed us to see human beings
at liberty, or who at least believed themselves
to be. The window^s which procured this little
view for us were very much sought after and
always occupied. Persons interested in the
prisoners came to assure themselves of our
existence. Our numbers increased each day,
and brought us some detestable recruits. I had
very near me some vulgar creatures, — young
women from the Rue de Chartres, some persons
with the itch, the hangman's mistress, and a
drunken creature, who said she was a person of
quality belonging to the family of Desarmoise,
to whom in manner at any rate she bore not the
slightest resemblance. She assumed the right
to come into our rooms every day, make a great
noise, and deliver herself of the most abusive
language, for which she afterward asked par-
don. I was, of course, very much touched by
her repentance, but her visits were still very dis-
agreeable to me. Another of my neighbours,

During the French Revolution. 85

a lady of the court, was insane ; and unfortu-
nately for me, she took a great fancy to me.
She lay down to sleep one day just in my door-
way, and could only be gotten away by force.
The sort of care that I was obliged to take of
her was as disagreeable as it was fatiguing, and
it was a real calamity. One of her fancies was
to write to Robespierre. I suppose her letters
suffered the same fate as ours, — never to reach
their destination. Only the two lines added to
the requests which we made for necessary things
ever found favour at the clerk's office.

The mess-table, the nature of which we had
experienced at Chantilly, was established. We
were placed in the rhetoric class-room, and
grouped at tables of twelve covers each. Each
of us had a wooden spoon, but no fork ; and
we were given to understand that the latter was
a dangerous thing. We also had a wooden bowl
given us from which to eat our soup; and I have
kept it as a curiosity. I never used it. It
seemed as though pains had been taken to do
everything which could excite our disgust. The
tables had no cloths, and- were never washed ;
as a great deal of wine was spilled the smell was
insupportable. Hairs were often found in the
food ; and the dirtiest of the prisoners were de-
tailed to wait upon us. Pigs ran about the

S6 Prison Life

refectory while we were at dinner. A notice
was posted one day, saying that it was only
necessary to give us enough to keep us alive.

Supper was entirely done away with. Mes-
dames de Courteilles, de Rochechouart, and de
Richelieu ate with the lowest creatures, and
Madame and Mademoiselle de Pons with
Mademoiselle Dervieux, of the Opera, a negress,
and what were called feminine sans-culotles.

The men ate in another refectory. My mess-
mates were hard to please in the matter of food,
among them the daughter of one of the Duke
of Bourbon's grooms. Such people were never
content. The keeper, angry one day because
they tried to throw their plates in his face,
pointed me out to the commissioner who ex-
amined us, as well as others of my class, and
said, ' You can ask those ladies ; they never
complain of anything.' He greatly preferred
to have charge of us than of the common people.
The keepers at Plessis were not at all like those
at Chantilly, who were kind, attentive, obliging
and attached to us. Those at Plessis persecuted
us to get money, demanded services of us, and
reproached us when we had two garments for
not giving them one of them. They were very
hard to get along with. I often served them as
secretary in writing to their relatives or making

During the French Revolution. 87

applications. Once while doing something of
this sort a very amusing thing happened to
Madame de la Fayette. A woman asked her
to compose a petition for her, which she did
immediately, with the readiness and kindness
which characterized her. But as her handwriting
was bad, she charged the person to have it copied ;
and she had the stupidity to send it to a prisoner,
who, good patriot that he was, was indignant
at the want of civism evinced in it, and sent
it back with some words effaced, and the follow-
ing remarks : ' This petition is aristocratic ; one
never uses such phraseology. This is not civic ;
it has the odour of a chateau. This person does
not know how to draw up a petition,' etc.

We laughed a great deal at the severe criti-
cism aroused by this kind action.

A convoy from La Force brought Madame
de la Fayette to us at Plessis. The van-guard
was composed of Madame des Reaux, who was
eighty-four years old, Madame de Machaut, and
other women who were at least seventy. These
were, as a great favour, put into a carriage ; the
others, as was the custom, came in a cart.
It was a long time before they were put into
lodgings, and we were allowed to approach them.
At last I was able to see one of my cousins, who
found the rules in this prison less severe than in

88 Prison Life

the one from which she came ; and all the girls
of the street from Paris collected there presented
a spectacle so indecent that one so pure as she
could scarcely endure it. Besides, she slept in a
room where there were four other persons whom
she did not know ; I was able to get another
room for her, which she thought quite palatial.
She has often told me of the extreme pleasure
she felt on awaking and finding herself alone.
The room was so small that she could not put a
chair between her bed and the wall ; there was
fortunately a recess, however, where with some
trouble she could sit down. Having Madame
de la Fayette so near me was very pleasant.
Her virtues and kindliness, which had suffered
no change from the life she had been compelled
to live during the first years of the Revolution,
the possibility of opening my heart to her with
regard to my family, concerning my anxiety for
whom I had never spoken to any one, did me
much good ; we wept together over her own
fate. She seemed to me to be much less pre-
pared than I was for the general and particular
evils which threatened us. She thought, for
instance, that she could defend her cause and
that of her husband before the Revolutionary
tribunal, and that only those were in danger who
had committed some serious or trifling injury to

During the French Revolution. 89

the Republic. It took me at least a fortnight
to set her right on this subject, and enable her
to realize her true situation ; but, indeed, what
passed before our eyes was more eloquent than
anything I could say.

The number of victims carried off became
larger and larger ; they generally went away
during the time we were taking our walk in
the courtyard. It seems to me now, that I
can see the unfortunate Monsieur Titon, a
counsellor in the parliament of Paris, as he
passed beneath the windows of the room of
his wife and daughter, who were not even per-
mitted to bid him a last farewell. He went out
at five o'clock in the evening, and the next day
at noon he was dead. Carts and Fouquier-
Tinville's carriage ari^ived at all hours, and were
crowded with the accused. This man's coach-
man was well worthy of such a master ; while
the victims were getting into the wagon he
drummed out dancing tunes, and his costume
was that of a Merry Andrew. It is almost im-
possible to describe the terror excited by the
opening of the great gate, especially when it was
repeated several times a day. I can hear now
the sound of the drum beating. The bailiffs of
the Revolutionary tribunal went before the
wagons with their hands full of warrants. Then

90 Prison Life

there was a moment of deathlike silence. Every
one thought the fatal order had come for him ;
faces were filled with terror, hearts and minds
overwhelmed with fright. The bailiffs went up
into the corridors to call for those who were to
go off, and only allowed them a quarter of an
hour to prepare. Each bade the other an eter-
nal farewell ; we were in a stunned condition,
being only sure of living from ten o'clock in the
morning until seven o'clock in the evening.
Sleep was light when one suffered such anxiety,
and was frequently interrupted by the arrival of
convoys. That containing the famous prisoners
from Nantais created a great sensation. It was
the custom to receive the prisoners with lighted
torches ; and the keeper, accompanied by jailers
and big dogs, dragged the poor prisoners from
the wagons in the roughest manner. They were
so much afraid of losing some of the prisoners
that they called the roll two or three times in
succession, then put them in the ^' mouse-trap,"
— a new name for a receiving-place. There was
no calculation as to whether there was room
enough in the house ; room was made : and
there have been as many, so we have been as-
sured, as seventeen hundred at one time in the
colleges of Plessis and Louis-le-Grand. Twenty-
five persons were put in the same room, even in

During the French Revolution. 91

the entresols^ with grated windows. The sever-
ity of the treatment increased constantly. One
day about three o'clock in the afternoon I heard
my bolts shot to, and could not understand
the reason ; it was unusual. It was on account
of a servant having thrown water out of a win-
dow into the courtyard, after having been forbid-
den ; and for this great crime we were punished.

We were not allowed to have any light in our
rooms ; this was a very great privation. To
room in front of a street lamp was a great piece
of good fortune. In the corridors were placed
chaffing-dishes, on which we warmed our sup-
pers. Those of us who had fireplaces kept the
fires bright, so as to give light. Some one would
light a candle for a moment, then extinguish it
the next, for fear of being punished. To eat
with our fingers was intolerable. To go to the
jailer every day to ask him to cut up our choco-
late was neither amusing nor satisfactory. I re-
member a large penknife which belonged to
Madame Vassy which was our delight. She was
a lovely woman, bright and intelligent, and ex-
tremely obliging. She said she liked variety.
She married, on leaving the prison, a Prussian,
who took her to Berlin.

On the i8th of June I witnessed a heart-rend-
ing scene. I was in Madame de Pons's apart-

92 Prison Life

ment, playing a game of chess with her, when
some one came and called me ; I went out. A
person who felt an interest in Madame de Pons's
daughter told me that her father had been trans-
ferred from the private hospital where he had
been, to the Plessis, and that as he was getting
out of the wagon he had received his bill of in-
dictment ; that he implored most earnestly to be
allowed to see his daughter, but was refused, in
order to avoid such a harrowing interview. The
windows of the keeper's apartment opened di-
rectly upon the courtyard where Mademoiselle de
Pons was then walking ; they were ordered to be
closed. Monsieur de Pons gave himself up to
the most frenzied despair, saying that the most
precious treasure he had in the world was taken
from him.' We did not know how to get his
daughter out of the courtyard without arousing
her suspicions. Haly had caused her to suspect
that something was going on, by forbidding her
to go under the windows on account of the arrival
of some new prisoners. I made some pretext to
persuade her to go into our building with one of
my friends ; and the latter led her to a place quite
away from her unfortunate father. Then I re-
turned to Madame de Pons's room, and from the
change in my countenance she perceived that
something had happened. I said nothing, but

During the French Revolution. 93

began playing chess again, in order to gain time
to prepare her for it. The state of affairs be-
tween herself and her husband rendered this less
terrible for her than for her daughter. She urged
me to tell her the cause of my emotion. As
Monsieur de Pons had been ill of consumption
for a long time, I told her that he was about to
die. She begged me not to tell her daughter of
it, and I promised. This unhappy man was not
sent for to be taken to the Conciergerie until
nine o'clock in the evening, and consequently he
was in the same building with his child for five
hours without being able to take her in his arms,
comfort her^ or bid her a last farewell. He
spent all of the time in seeking by threats and
prayers to excite the compassion and interest of
the keeper, telling him of her youth, of his af-
fection for her, and that his last prayer was that
happier days might be in store for her. He cast
a farewell glance toward the courtyard, and then
was led away. I spent the evening in extreme
trouble and agitation ; although I knew Mon-
sieur de Pons only very slightly, the thought
that he had not in his last agonized hours been
able to see his daughter and bless her, and the
grief I knew she would feel, all caused me to
pass a terrible night. The young girl has since
told me that she suspected that something sad

94 Prison Life

was being concealed from her, by the embarrass-
ment in our manner toward her. She came the
next day as usual to my apartment to comb my
thin white hair, and I could scarcely restrain my
feelings while I was dressing when I remem-
bered that her father was at that very moment
before the tribunal or mounting the scaffold.
She went away immediately. Madame de Pons
had asked me to tell her the whole truth, and I
had done so. She had sent for news of her
husband's trial, and learned that he and also
Messieurs de Laval, de Rohan-Soubise, de
Montbarrey, and fifty others had been con-
demned to death as conspirators against Robes-
pierre, and were to be executed at the Greve,
wearing red shirts, though these by law were re-
quired to be worn only by murderers. It seems
that in order to make this so-called conspiracy
more noted, the most celebrated names of the
old regime had been made use of, and that in
fact those who bore them had never thought of
conspiring.

All day means were employed to increase
Mademoiselle de Pons's anxiety on account of
her father's illness as she knew he was in great
danger, and feared his end was approaching.
She says in one of her prison memoirs, of which
a few copies have been printed, that I asked

During the French Revolution. 95

permission of her mother to tell her of her
father's death. She did not know that, on the
contrary, it was Madame de Pons who ear-
nestly implored me to undertake to break it to
her, and that for a long time I refused. At last
she gave me some very good reasons for doing
so, and I consented. Mademoiselle de Pons,
in whose presence I no longer concealed my
emotion, suspected her misfortune. She ques-
tioned me ; I made no reply, but threw my
arms around her and burst into tears.

Another calamity befel us. the small-pox broke
out. Madame des Reaux, eighty-four years old,
died of it ; and an only son also died, almost in
sight of his father and mother, who were cruelly
refused permission to go into another prison to
weep over their unhappy child. They drank
their cup to the dregs. Two very old ladies by
the name of Machault were also attacked by
this horrible disease, which naturally was greatly
dreaded by all those who had not had it. For-
tunately the contagion did not spread, which was
extraordinary in a place where so many persons
were crowded together. Besides, the manner
in which the sick were treated was horrible.
No money could procure medicine for them, or
even a cup of tea. I saw a very strong woman
die, who could have been cured with very little

96 Prison Life

care. It required two days' negotiation to gain
permission to have a warming-pan brought into
the house. The prison surgeon was a Pole,
named Markoski, who had come to Paris to
study medicine, of which he was entirely ignorant.
I needed to be bled ; he found that it w^as diffi-
cult to do this in my arm. I let him try my foot,
and he was successful. I pardoned his want of
skill and his ignorance on account of his kind-
ness of heart. He was really obliging; he
brought us news of persons of our acquaintance
who were imprisoned in other houses of arrest.
And he was particularly kind to me because I
gave him an account of the sick, and because,
as I knew some medical phrases, I spared him
the trouble of making out certificates of infirm-
ity for persons who hoped by that means to
escape close imprisonment ; it was only neces-
sary for him to sign what I had wTitten. One
day when I was feeling very badly, I said to my-
self, ' It would be so sweet to die in my bed.'
What a terrible condition it is w^hen one re-
joices over an illness which may bring death I

I omitted to relate a very ridiculous incident.
The day before the Feast of the Supreme
Being ^ all the prisoners were sent down into

1 One of the holidays laid down in the revised Revo-
lutionary calendar. — Tr.

During the French Revolution. 97

the courtyard, which we found filled with an
enormous quantity of branches and leaves. I
pretended to work upon them for a few minutes,
and then I withdrew into my own room ; sev-
eral of our wretched companions worked away
zealously, and even offered to plant a liberty-pole
in the middle of the courtyard. The keeper,
less absurd than they, forbade it, saying that
such a decoration would not suit a prison.
They danced in the court ; the jailers attended
this strange festival, — it was the day of Pente-
cost, on which Robespierre permitted God to be
adored provided He should not be called by
that name. One of them praised me very much
(he was not very bad), and said that he thought
I would carry myself very well going to the
guillotine ; I answered him coolly that I hoped I
should. Another boasted of the rapidity with
which the Revolutionary tribunal got through
with its trials ; and he added that in order to set
things right, it would be necessary to cut off
seven thousand heads. One day as I was sit-
ting alone in my room two gendarmes entered ;
I thought that my last moment of life had come.
They questioned me about my father and my
brothers ; and as the conversation progressed, I
hoped that the mere curiosity to see a person of
my rank destined for the scaffold had attracted
7

98 Prison Life

them. They went away, and I was much re-
lieved by their departure. A little while after,
a female who had the appearance of a woman
of ill-fame came to tell me that she had been
ordered by the keeper to lodge in my room,
and that she was going immediately to bring in
her bed. For a moment I felt extremely irri-
tated, but I restrained myself. I told her that
I would leave the room and she could have it
all to herself. The women and young girls who
were poor had entered into a speculation which
I now found useful : they took possession of
very small cells, and for money gave them up to
other people, finding some way of crowding in
elsewhere. I thought of one occupied by the
daughter of the Prince of Conde's groom, and
she let me have it for a louis in assignats ; she
boasted a great deal of her kindness to me, and
indeed it was very fortunate for me. I regretted
my fireplace very much on account of its con-
venience for my neighbours ; moreover, it was
both inconvenient and dangerous to light fires
in open braziers in so narrow a space, though
under the circumstances it was absolutely ne-
cessary. My new lodging possessed one advan-
tage over those of Madame de la Fayette, in
that I could put a chair between my bed and
the wall. I could without rising lift the latch

During the French Revolution. 99

of my door, and even look out into the court.
My prison life taught me that even the smallest
power is precious. The difficulty of procuring
light and fire enabled me to succeed in striking
a light with steel. I carefully concealed the
possession of this treasure, fearing that it might
be regarded as a dangerous weapon in a Revolu-
tionary arsenal. The keeper, learning that his
name had been used in order to turn me out of
my apartment, came to tell me that he had had
nothing to do with that enterprise, and requested
me to denounce the woman who had contrived
it. I replied that I had such a horror of denun-
ciations that I would not give her name. He
then proposed that I should return to my room,
but I refused to do so ; the prison was getting
so full that I feared I should be compelled to
receive some one into it. Convoys were con-
stantly arriving from the different Departments.
One came containing eighty peasant women
from the Vivarais, who wore very singular cos-
tumes. We questioned them concerning the
cause of their arrest ; they explained to us in
their patois that it was because they went to
mass. This was considered so enormous a
crime that they were put in the building belong-
ing to the tribunal which was called by our wags
Fouquier's shop. Some ladies from Normandy

lOO Prison Life

came to our prison. They seemed countrified,
though they did not wear their local costumes ;
they spent their time from morning to night
writing memoirs and petitions, — a very danger-
ous habit during the Reign of Terror, and one
which was likely to hasten the hour of death.

I received a letter from my father which made
my heart ache. I always awaited and read his
letters with deep emotion. He told me that
Madame Latour, who was their only consola-
tion, who lightened the burden of their old age,
had just been taken away from them ; that she
had been forced to leave the prison in spite of
the efforts she had made to remain or be al-
lowed to return. She begged for imprisonment
as earnestly as one usually does for liberty.

All this caused me great grief. I felt more
keenly than ever how much my parents needed
me, and I again sent in applications to be allowed
to go to them ; they were fruitless. Fortunately
they had with them my sister-in-law, the wife of
Louis, Vicomte de Noailles, whom they valued
as she deserved ; but as she was obliged to take
care of Madame d'Ayen, her mother, and
Madame la Marechale de Noailles, her grand-
mother, who were lodging with her, she could
not do very much for my parents. Conse-
quently they were left entirely alone, my father

During; the French Revolution. loi

then eighty and my mother sixty.^ Their for-
lorn situation was constantly before my mind.
One day as I was intensely occupied with
thoughts of them, I heard a great noise in the
courtyard ; I looked out, and saw a convoy
enter containing a hundred and fourteen persons
from Neuilly-sur-Seine. They had been com-
pelled to pass by the camp of Robespierre's
disciples, who had shouted terrible threats at
them. As they had received no orders to kill
the prisoners, they contented themselves with
overwhelming them with threats and insults.
The convoy was composed of a great many
nobles who had established themselves in the
village of Neuilly on account of the leiires de
passe. (A decree had compelled all nobles who
were not imprisoned in Paris to go away sev-
eral leagues from the city.) A most strange
thing to happen at such a time was, that some
persons who were not of noble blood, but who
wished to be considered so, obeyed this decree,
which had no reference to them at all. The
servants of the nobles had been arrested with
them ; and with them were also people of all con-
ditions, among them six nuns of the Visitation,
— one of whom was Madame de Croi, sister of

1 A detailed account of the prison of the Luxembourg
may be found in the journal of Madame Latour.

102 Prison Life

Madame de Tourzel. All of these unfortunate
creatures were left a whole day in the ' mouse-
trap.' I learned that Madame de Choiseul, the
mother^ Madame Hippolyte de Choiseul, and
Madame de Serent were also of the party. The
whole company were searched in the strictest
manner. At last, at seven o'clock in the even-
ing, they were put into lodgings. The nuns,
to their dismay, were put on the sixth floor, with
twenty-five persons ; and to make them more
wretched, they were put with the lowest crea-
tures. All belonging to this convoy suffered
extremely from hunger. We gave them what we
could. I remember that I made for Mesdames
de Choiseul a panado which they thought deli-
cious. Bread and wine were usually all that \\'as
allowed to be offered to the new-comers. This
is a minute detail, and is intended to show the
destitution which existed in our prison. I have
seen poor women, brought from the suburbs of
Paris, sleeping on the tables in the refectory.
The greatest attention we could bestow upon
people was to give up our mattresses to them
while they were waiting for theirs.

All those composing the convoy from Neuilly^
though scarcely settled in lodgings, came very
near being sent in a body to the Conciergerie
to perish the next day. About midnight I heard

During the French Revolution. 103

the sound of carriages, — a not uncommon thing,
as I slept lightly. A melancholy curiosity, in-
spired by fear, induced me to rise and see what
was going on.

I saw by the light of a number of torches a
great many gendarmes and bailiffs, and at the
same moment a frightful noise was heard in our
corridor. Loud voices cried, ' Let all who be-
long to the convoy from Neuilly prepare to de-
part.' I trembled all over, and went out to go and
see my neighbours, who, little accustomed to the
rules of the house, were quite undisturbed, since
they had been told that this was only a removal.
I do not remem.ber whether I told them of the
fate which immediately threatened them, so they
might prepare for it, or whether I left them in
ignorance of their death-summons. For some
time they remained in suspense ; then the jailers
came to say that there was a mistake. We
afterward learned that it was by mistake that
they had come that night to the Plessis. The
executioners did not let their wagons remain
empty, but went to another prison to fill them.
It was necessary to have a certain number of
victims every day, except from our prison, where
the number varied. I have known as many as
sixty-four to be sent from us in one day.

One thing seems almost incredible unless one

104 Prison Life

witnessed it : it is that constantly one could
hear the prisoners playing on different instru-
ments, and singing in chorus the Republican
airs ; and again, that one could see women'
caring for their dress, and even coquettish, while,
besides the guillotine, they were threatened
with death by fire and water. We heard that
we were to be shot as the Lyonnais were, against
a wall which was newly erected in our court-
yard and was destined, it was said, for that pur-
pose. In addition to these rumours, the fire in the
library of the abbey of St. Germain, — which we
saw very plainly, — as well as the explosion of
the magazine at Crenelle, gave us a great deal of
anxiety. As far as I myself was concerned, I
am sure these two events disturbed me but
little ; but I was terribly anxious on account of
those dear to me. The walk in the open air,
which was necessary for our existence, became
almost intolerable. One day when I was out,
I saw several persons dismount who came from
Angoumois. It was about six o'clock in the even-
ing ; the name of one of them, an old lady named
De Boursac, reminded me of two of the king's
equerries who bore the same name, and I gave
her some information concerning them which
seemed to afford her great pleasure. She told
me they were her children, and that she had

During the French Revohttion. 105

two others with her. My first conversation was
a last farewell, for she was executed with them
the next day. The pretext of conspiracies be-
gan to be fashionable in order to cause the death
of a great many persons of different classes at
the same time. I comforted myself sometimes
with the hope that my parents' advanced age
and their virtues would save them, and that I
only would perish ; for I saw clearly from all
the refusals I had received that I should be
obliged to renounce entirely the happiness of
joining them. This was for me the greatest pos-
sible sorrow, but each day brought others. I
could never have endured my situation with for-
titude had I not resigned myself entirely to the
will of God. The charity which we were so
frequently called upon to exercise helped to dis-
tract our minds. One day, for instance, I met a
poor woman who arrived overcome with fatigue
from her long, miserable journey, having slept
by the way only in infected prisons. The jailer,
in order to force her to go to her apartment,
which was very high up, spoke to her in most
abusive language, and even kicked her, to rouse
her from the prostration which overcame her as
she mounted the stairs. I begged this cruel
citizen not to treat her as a beast of burden,
but to put her in my charge. I had great trouble

io6 Prison Life

to gain this favour from him, but succeeded
with the help of one of my companions in
getting her away from the barbarian. I think
she was Madame de Richelieu.

Madame de Rochechouart, her mother, was
a singular example of the well established fact
that prison life cured several very great invalids.
When she was arrested at Courteille she was
spitting blood so constantly that it was thought
she would never reach Paris. On reaching
Plessis her health became much better, though
she lived in a room where the plaster was still
fresh, without fire, and exposed to every wind.
I believe it was the strict diet forced upon us
by the poor food which produced this happy
effect. One ate only what was just necessary
to sustain life. The mind was so agitated that
the body felt the effects of the strain. I re-
member that one night I was so hungry that I
got up to get some chocolate, wondering that a
physical need could distract me from the sad
thoughts which beset me when awake. One
day I spoke to Madame de la Fayette on this
subject, saying to her that I could not conceive
how, occupied as we were constantly with
thoughts of death, and having it continually be-
fore us, we could provide for the next day what
was needful to preserve our lives. While we

During the French Revolution. 107

were in the refectory we were isformed that a
poor woman had thrown herself out of the only
window without a grating in the whole house,
and that she was dying in the courtyard ; it was
surely despair which had urged her to this act of
folly. I ran to the spot where they had carried
her, and found her crushed, and showing no
signs of consciousness. The keeper was be-
side himself, fearing lest this accident should
compromise him, and never thought of doing
anything for the unfortunate creature. I im-
plored him, as our surgeon had made his rounds
and lived at a great distance, to send for one of
the physicians who were imprisoned in the build-
ing used as a court. He granted my request very
unwillingly ; and the officers from the hospital
could scarcely be induced to come to see the
injured woman, as they said it was the duty of
the surgeon of the house to attend to her. They
found she had no money, and made no attempt
to do anything for her. I was extremely irri-
tated at this. My companions in misfortune
shared my desire to be of some assistance. I
enter into these details only to show that deeds
of kindness were the only distraction from our
own sufferings.

I always waited with impatience, mingled with
fear, the notes that came to me from the Lux-

io8 Prison Life

embourg. I received one on the morning of
June 26. My father wrote me (I transcribe
the note) : ' Your mother is suffering from
severe indigestion, brought on by eating salad,
which is all she has for supper ; at first I treated
her mys'elf, and afterward our neighbours ren-
dered her all sorts of services. We have a good
physician here among the prisoners ; he has given
her two grains of an emetic which have done
her much good. She will be able to take liquids
to-morrow, and is improving rapidly. You shall
hear from her to-morrow. Our tenderest love
and kisses, my dear daughter.'

On reading this my heart ached ; I thought
of my mother as suffering from something like
apoplexy, of my father as heart-broken, while I
was utterly powerless to help them. I spent
the whole day and night in great agitation, and
it seemed so long before the sun rose ! I went
down and sent message after message to the
clerk. Finally, when the time when we usually
received letters had passed without my getting
one, as a great many of our prisoners had hus-
bands at the Luxembourg I went to inquire if
they had had their letters ; some said no, others
manifested a sort of embarrassment which seemed
like compassion. I was struck by it, and a sus-
picion of the calamity with which I was threat-

During French Kevolution. 109

ened immediatelj flashed across my mind. I
talked of it the w'nole evening to Madame de
la Fajette and other persons. Their terrified
expression confirmed my suspicions. I said
to them, with extreme emotion : ' You are
hiding from me to-day wTn.at I shall learn to-
morrow. I know what yoi wish to keep from
me. My cousin^ you must tell me the dreadful
news.'

Accordingly she came into my room early in
the morning, and I no longer doubted what my
misfortune was. I read the whole story in her
face. She did not tell me of the death of both
at once ; she waited awhile before telling me
of the other. I can never express the grief I
felt, — the horror of thinking of such virtue,
perfect charity, and honour upon the scaffold !
My parents' goodness to me, their tenderness,
the immense force of their examples^ the lessons
they taught me, — all came to my mind. My
sobs choked me. It was the day before the fast
of Saint Peter. I observed it strictly, swallow-
ing only my tears ; it is impossible to describe
what one feels under such circumstances. I
could learn no details, except that they had been
beheaded as conspirators. I did not go down-
stairs for several days, and it was some time be-
fore I went to walk in the courtyard. My neigh-

no Prison Life

hours showed me every atten. on. From that
time the thought of death v/as always before
me, — everything ^called it to my mind ; and
this perhaps soothed the violence of my grief.
One of the first visits I made was to a lady who
had on the same day Jost her husband and her
only son, a youth of sixteen. I was told that
I might perhaps comfort her ; and I tried to do
so as well as I could. I continually repeated
the prayers for the dying for others and for my-
self ; I repeated them so frequently that I knew
them by heart. I felt sorry to end my life with-
out spiritual aid. This was all the sadder since
there were two hundred, priests in our house ;
but they v ere absolutely forbidden to hold any
communication with us. Some persons were in
despair on this account. I told them that when
it was impossible to confess, one should make a
sacrifice of one's life and arouse oneself to per-
fect contrition, and one would obtain pardon.
I was not greatly disturbed, because I felt
entirely resigned to the will of God.

Three peasant women from Berry, who slept
just back of my bed, received their indictments
just as they were going to bed. One of them
had spit upon a patriot's cloak ; another had
stepped upon the arm of a statute of Liberty,
which had tumbled down ; I do not know the

During the French Kevohition. 1 1 1

crime of the third. They were in a terrible
state all night. Their sobling prevented my
sleeping at all. I got up and endeavoured to
encourage them, and exhort them to submit to
the decree of Providence. After a while they
grev^ more calm, appeared before the tribunal,
and w^ere acquitted. This was for the purpose
of making it appear that the decisions were
rendered with some sort of equity.

These pretended conspiracies niultiplied in a
frightful manner. After that of the f-uxembourg,
one was invented at St. Lazare, and another at
Bicetre. The victims collected at the last men-
tioned prison, as a,diip6t, were brought to ours,
and kept there twenty-four hours. The convoy
was escorted by forty gendarmes, armed with
guns. There were a good many priests. These
unfortunate beings were chained together by
twos and threes, like wild beasts ; most of them
held their breviaries in their hands. All of them
were put in the dungeon to sleep, and they were
taken away in a body the next day to the Con-
ciergerie. It is even doubted whether they
were ever condemned before being beheaded.
I cannot explain the barbarous curiosity which
incited us to go to the windows to see these
itinerant hearses come and go. I remarked one
day to some of my companions that under the

112 Prison Life

old regime we should have gone a long way to
avoid meeting a Ci'iminal who was going to be
hanged, and now we gazed upon every innocent
victim. I think we grew somewhat hardened
from constant contact with those who were so.
The famous Osselin, author of all the decrees
against the ^migr4s, was in the party from
Bicfitre ; he had concealed a dagger under his
coat with which he wounded himself several
times during the night he passed at the Plessis.
These wounds were dressed as well as was pos-
sible, and he was carried to the tribunal on a
litter. He was guillotined the next day. The
sight of this man's suffering, criminal though he
was, inspired me with horror beyond description.
He was literally cut to pieces.

On the 2 2d of July it was rumoured in the
prison that some of the ladies of the house of
Noailles had been condemned. I did not speak
of it to Madame de la Fayette, but tried in
vain to learn the truth of the report. A little
while after, however, I read in a newspaper
that Madame la Marechale de Noailles and
Madame la Duchesse d'Ayen had been guil-
lotined. Nothing was said about my dear little
sister-in-law.^ The difficulty of procuring news
from outside was extremely great. The servants

1 The Vicomtesse de Noailles.

. During the French Revolution. 113

of the Reign of Terror even trembled for them-
selves. When I questioned them, they answered
vaguely. I no longer doubted the truth of this
new calamity ; but I wanted to be sure of it
before announcing it to Madame de la Fay-
ette^ whose fears I sought in vain to arouse,
and who was always hoping for the best. At
last I paid a jailer to gain for me the con-
firmation of what I feared.

It was a sorrow to me the whole time I was
hiding it from my cousin, and my spirit was
crushed. I loved the Vicomtesse de Noailles
as a daughter and friend. She possessed
every possible virtue and charm, and was the
member of my family whom I most loved and
confided in.

To find myself bereaved of five members of
my family within so short a space of time seemed
almost incredible. And how could I tell
Madame de la Fayette that she no longer had
mother or grandmother or sister ! At last she
became conscious of the embarrassed manner
of those whom she questioned. She asked me
the reason ; and I answered her by a flood of
tears. It was a sad service which I rendered in
return for what she had done for me, under the
same circumstances. She comprehended the
death of her parent and grandparent, but she

114 Prison Life

could not be persuaded of the death of the
angel sister whom she adored. I shared all her
sorrow, and our hearts bled for each other. Her
situation was terrible, and awakened anew my
still fresh grief. We frequently talked together
of our revered parents ; and we were only roused
from our stunned condition by misfortunes more
recent than our own, which urged us to com-
fort those who were suffering from them. The
indispensable duty of preparing food is a real,
though wretched, distraction when the heart is
aching.

We were now threatened with a domiciliary
visitation ; the keeper, who was quite kind to
me, advised me to put my devotional books
where they would not be seen. I concealed
them carefully, as well as my assignats, a few
of which still remained, between the beams of
our cells. This visitation did not take place.
One night (I do not exactly remember the
date) I heard a great noise of horses' feet ;
the great gate opened and shut every mo-
ment, and horsemen came in and out. At
daybreak I found the courtyard filled with
gendarmes. They went away without doing
anything, and I have never learned why they
came.

I had some business to transact with Haly,

During the French Revolution. 115

and we talked afterward of what was going on ;
and he informed me that soon all persons of my
rank were to be beheaded. I realized that I
had but little time to live, and profited by the
conversation. I set a strict watch over myself,
and prayed God to sustain my courage, — a
prayer which was fully granted me.

I did not think it necessary to overwhelm my
companions with the weight of my griefs and
fears. Some of them deluded themselves as
certain sick persons do during epidemics, though
already attacked by the disease, saying, ' He
who just died had a hemorrhage ; I have not.
The other complained of a pain in his back ; I
have not felt anything of the sort.' Just so
with the prisoners ; they said to each other,
' Those who were beheaded were in corres-
pondence with the dmigr^s, they were aristocrats,
money was found on their persons,' etc. They
tried to persuade themselves that they were not
in the category of those who were every day
being condemned. I looked at the situation in
a different light ; it appeared to me impossible,
if the Reign of Terror continued, that any one
of our class should escape. I felt sure I should
suffer the same fate as my parents ; I sought to
imitate their resignation, and to honour their
memory by dying in a manner worthy of them.

1 1 6 Prison Life

I thought that terrible armchair^ had been
honoured by the many virtuous persons who
had occupied it. Every evening when I went
to bed I repeated my In manus. I arranged for
the distribution of all my small supply of furni-
ture among my companions. I constantly strove
to forgive injuries. My parents, who had been
very admirable in this respect, were my models.
How beautiful, how Christian, how truly worthy
of emulation it is to feel no resentment against
those who, after having overwhelmed us with
insult, conduct us to the tomb in a manner so
atrocious I It is only by following the teaching
of the Gospel in every respect that one can be
enabled to practise a charity so perfect.

One more sacrifice remained for me to make,
— the saddest of all : it was, never to see my
son again. I can never express what I felt then,
or what an effort it cost me to be resigned to
it. I believed that God would pardon me ; and
I was in as peaceful a state of mind as could be
expected under such cruel circumstances. I
resolved that when I should be called before the
tribunal I would make no answer to the ques-
tions of the iniquitous judges, but after hearing

1 The victims brought before the Revolutionary tribunal
for examination were placed in an armchair, and from it
they were taken to the scaffold.

During the French Revolution. 117

my sentence read, I would say, ' You are con-
demning an innocent person ; as a Cliristian I
forgive you, but the God of vengeance will judge
you/

I grieved to think that I was not to die for
the faith. Ah ! how delightful, when one finds
one's last hour approaching, to be able to be
sure of possessing a crown of glory and dwell-
ing in that country of which Saint Augus-
tine says that ^ Truth is the King, Charity
the Law, and the Duration, Eternity.' The
idea that I was to die only because of the in-
eradicable stain of aristocracy displeased me
inexpressibly.

On the 8th Thermidor, July 27th, 1794, we
perceived toward evening an extreme degree of
the usual terrible watchfulness. The prisoners
were not allowed to go into the courtyard ; the
gratings were closed. One would have been
anxious under any circumstances ; but when one
"s daily expecting one's fate, one has no other
fear. I had still, however, a great dread of
being killed by piecemeal, as was done on the
2d of September, with pikes, bayonets, and
such infernal weapons. I slept as usual ; and the
next day, the 9th Thermidor, the sound of can-
non was heard. The keeper and jailer were in
a state of great excitement ; their eyes looked

Ii8 Prison Life

haggard and their faces downcast. We knew
nothing of what was passing, but we presumed
it must be something frightful. That evening
their countenances seemed more human, and
there was a rumour of the death of Robespierre.
The next day, the loth, the inhabitants of
houses adjoining the Plessis made from their
windows signs of satisfaction. Our keepers
appeared more serene. We heard cries of joy
and clapping of hands in the courtyard ; a man
named Lafond, who had been in close confine-
ment for five months, and of whose very exis-
tence we had been ignorant, had been set at
liberty. This was the dawn of less terrible days
for us. We believed for the first time that we
might possibly be released from our tomb. On
the nth, Madame Rovere's waiting-woman was
set at liberty. The moment a prisoner ap-
proached the grating, cries of ' Liberty ' re-
sounded through the prison ; and this word
sounded very sweet to our ears. I could not
imagine what was going on outside. We learned
that the famous Terrorists continued to take the
lead in the Convention, that the terrible CoUot
d'Herbois, who had had us imprisoned, was one
of the number, which made me think that people
of our class in society would still be imprisoned.
The thought of death never left me nor my

During the French Revolution. 119

companions. Madame de Pons was very anx-
ious to leave the Plessis ; she obtained permis-
sion to go to a private hospital. (The private
hospitals were the prisons where prisoners were
best lodged and fed.) It was proposed that I
should send in the same petition ; but I refused
to do so for two reasons : first, because I did
not wish to act contrary to the will of Provi-
dence, which had placed me in the Plessis ; and
second, because it was very expensive living irt
the private hospitals.

The men were now allowed to walk in the
courtyard with the women ; I was disgusted
at this. One can easily imagine the unpleas-
antness of such a mingling of hussars, spies,
women and girls of the street. I advised the
good nuns not to appear. It was a horrid sight
for any decent person, still more for a holy
Carmelite. I lent my chamber to these good
women that they might say their prayers in
peace. One of them told me she could not en-
dure the language of the vulgar creatures who
were lodged with her ; I told her her only resource
was to stop her ears, since she could not alter
their conversation. Another went quite out of
her mind because she was not set free. One
of her companions came for me to quiet her. I
went to her and undertook to treat her as though

120 Prison Life

she were ill, persuaded her to take something
to drink, and comforted her with the hope of
liberty, and after a while she became calm. It
was terrible to see her.

As the number of persons who were set at
liberty increased every day. we began to hope
for escape from our bars, which up to this time
we had expected to see open only for us to pass
to the scaffold. The women of the lower classes
were favoured first ; and six months elapsed be-
fore any one dared say a word for one of the
nobility. I felt real gratification when I saw
Monsieur Legendre, the registrar of Mouchy,
go out. Every time I had seen him, I had said
to myself, ' He is one of the victims of our fam-
ily ; ' and I had felt quite heart-sick on account
of it.

Our seclusion was so strict that when I met
two men (the men were never allowed to enter
the building appropriated to the women) on my
corridor it astonished me greatly. They seemed
curious, and asked questions. I inquired about
these new people, and was told that they were
attached to the Committee of General Security,
and had considerable influence there. One of
them asked me if I belonged to the nobility ; I
replied that I did. One of my companions re-
proved me for this, considering it an impru-

During the French Revolution. 121

dence. I told her that I never kept back the
truth, and besides it would be perfectly useless
to do so. These men returned for several days
following ; they showed a desire to gain the
confidence of the prisoners in order to inter-
fere in their affairs. Those who were set at
liberty were now frequently of a higher class.
Among them were priests, soldiers, and land
owners. We had very miserable recruits in
their places, — some Terrorists, and a legion of
spies. The judges of the Revolutionary tribu-
nal came again to the clerk of our prison to in-
quire for accused prisoners, who were given
permission to go and confer with their defend-
ing counsel. As for us, being only suspected,
we had no right to do so ; but we pretended to
have, so as to hear something from those who
were dear to us. The first person who came
to see me was Madame Dubois de la Motte ;
and the first who succeeded in sending me a
letter at this still most dangerous period was the
Vicomtesse de Durfort. She offered me her
aid and money. I shall never forget this great
kindness. Madame de Grimaldi, her mother's
sister, who was with us the day she set out for
the tribunal, saw Mademoiselle de Pons as
she was getting into Fouquier's wagon ; she
pressed her hand as she bade her good-by,

122 Prison Life

and said, ' I am content ; my troubles will soon
be over.'

Monsieur Noel inquired for me at the clerk's
office ; and I was very glad to be able to show
my gratitude to him for the proofs of affection
he had shown my parents. He proposed to
make application for me to be set at liberty. I
refused to allow him to do so, urging as my ob-
jection that I had read in one of the newspapers
a denunciation against Lecointre, of Versailles,
issued by the Convention on account of his
having secured the release of Madame d'Adhe-
mar from La Bourbe (the convent of Port-
Royal, on the Rue de la Bourbe, had been
converted into a prison under the appropriate
name of Port- Libre), which made me fear to
compromise those who took an interest in me
and our class generally ; and I determined to
wait patiently a while longer. Next, the entire
convoy from Neuilly was set at liberty amid the
cheers of the prisoners. The nobles were not
excluded from this measure, — a fact which
made me really believe, for the first time, that I
should not remain forever in the Plessis ; and I
wrote to Monsieur Noel that he mis^ht bear me
in mind. He had sent me tidings of all the
members of my family except my son, of whom
I could learn nothing ; the children of my un-

During the French Revolution. 123

fortunate sister-in-law came to see me.^ Others
were present ; and I could not utter a single
word, so great was my emotion. I embraced
them and then retired to my chamber, com-
pletely overwhelmed by the heart-rending
memories aw^akened by their presence.

There was now great excitement among the
prisoners. When one has no hope, there is
nothing to do but to be resigned ; but we had
laid aside the thought of approaching death
and had conceived the idea of being released
from captivity.

One day as I was sitting in my old room with
the fireplace, which had been vacated, and the
possession of which once more was a real pleas-
ure to me, I saw a man come in from outside
who was named Fortin ; he told me he was a
lawyer frequently employed by Monsieur Le-
gendre, a deputy from Paris, and member of
the Committee of General Security, and that he
could be of service to me. He asked me a
great many questions, and inspired me with con-
fidence ; he came to see me for several succes-
sive days, and asked me for my papers. I
showed him proofs that I had never emigrated ;
that I had not gone outside of the Departments

1 Alexis and Alfred de Noailles, sons of the Vlcomtesse
de Noailles.

124 Prison Life

of Paris and the Oise, from which I had certifi-
cates of civism and residence ; that I was im-
prisoned only as a noble, and that there was not
the slightest accusation against me. I afterward
entered into correspondence with him.

Letters circulated more freely ; and we could
send them out by the prisoners, who were leav-
ing every day. I commissioned the governess of
Madame de Chauvelin's children to carry tidings
of me to my mother-in-law. We had learned
that deputies had been sent into all the prisons
to release the prisoners, and that Bourdon,
of the Oise, and Legendre had charge of ours.

On the 1 6th of October, 1794, the great gate
opened, and we saw the carriage of these depu-
ties enter. — which seemed a strange and pleasant
sight, since hitherto whenever a vehicle entered
the courtyard it departed loaded with victims.
The deputies ascended to the clerk's office,
where the prisoners of the lower class were
called up. Eighty of them were at once set at
liberty. The nobles were still ignorant whether
or not they would soon be numbered among the
elect. The deputies adjourned their second
sitting to October 18. I felt that this would
probably be the day on which we would be
subjected to our examinations, and I dreaded it
on account of my love of the truth. I feared that

During the French Revolution. 125

I might be unfaithful to it, or that if I spoke the
truth plainly I might remain several years more
in captivity. As I was turning these thoughts
over in my mind, which was very much troubled
(it was the famous i8th of October), I received
orders to present myself at the clerk's office.
As we entered the room where the deputies
were, they said to us in a severe tone : ' Let the
ci-devants leave the room ; it is not proper to
examine the good sans-culottes in their pres-
ence.' We retired and waited almost three
hours, most of the time standing. I conversed
all this time with Madame de la Fayette. At
last my turn came. Bourdon asked me my
names ; I told them to him. He jumped up
out of his chair and exclaimed, ^ These are ter-
rible names ! We cannot set this woman at lib-
erty ; her case must be carried before the
Committee of General Security.'

I silently implored the aid of Heaven to en-
able me to watch over myself at this moment
and not to violate the truth.

Bourdon asked me several insignificant ques-
tions with regard to my abode, the time of my
imprisonment, etc. Legendre, whom Fortin
and Monsieur Noel had interested in my be-
half, assumed a kindly manner, and pointed out
to his colleague that • my papers were good.

126 Prison Life

that I had been spoken well of to him, that he
knew that I had been a member of the charita-
ble board of St. Sulpice.' I felt a real satis-
faction in being under obligations to the poor.
Fortin asked me what I had done to aid the
Revolution. I replied, • All my life I have
done any kind act that I could ; and I gave
money to poor volunteers on my father's estate
when they set out for the army/ A prisoner
who was present at my examination had the
kindness to bestow a panegyric upon me which
the keeper approved and added to, praising my
submission to the rules of the house.

I leaned quietly upon a table on which were
all the judges' papers. I learned afterward
that my manner was considered haughty. No
sentence was pronounced upon me, and at last I
told them that the unparalleled miseries I had
endured gave me a right to justice from them.
Legendre seemed somewhat moved, but I went
out of his presence a moment after feeling that
my cause was lost. He treated Madame de la
Fayette in a most insulting manner. He told
her ' that he had great fault to find with her,
that he detested her husband, herself, and her
name.' She replied with equal courage and
nobleness ' that she would always defend her
husband, and that a name was not a crime.'

During the French Revolution. 127

Bourdon asked her several questions, to which
she replied with firmness. Legendre finally
ended this pleasant dialogue by telling her that
she was an insolent creature. They decided to
liberate the greater part of our companions. I
retired fully persuaded that I should be again
entered in the jail-book. But one of my neigh-
bours assured me that I was on the list of those
who were to be set at liberty. I received on
this occasion strong proofs of the interest my
companions took in my doubtful fate ; I re-
turned to my own room sure that I was to re-
sume my fetters ; I was resigned to this, as was
also Madame de la Fayette. It is not nearly
so hard to feel so when one has experienced
many misfortunes, and when one has no hope
of being restored to those one loves.

I have noticed that it is better, when one is
about to give up life, not to be surrounded by
those who make it so dear. What one suffers
for others and on one's own account is, taken
together, too miuch to be endured.

On the 19th of October, 1794, at ten o'clock
in the morning, while I was busy with my morn-
ing duties, I heard my door open suddenly. A
little while before I should have been sure that
it was the announcement of my death, and I
did not even now think this sudden interruption

128 Prison Life

brought me good news ; but some one, whose
name I do not remember, said to me delicht-
edly, ' You are free ! ' My heart, so unused to
pleasurable emotions, was slow to entertain the
idea. The keeper entered, confirmed the news,
and brought me my acle de liberU. I then
thought sadly of how little use it would be to
me. Deprived of every comfort, separated
from my son and my parents, from Madame de
Chimay, — the only friend that Heaven had left
to me, — without a home, and in want of the very
necessaries of life, I felt irritated by the con-
gratulations of the jailers and the gendarmes
who had formerly threatened me with the guil-
lotine, and was very much afraid that they would,
according to their usual custom, manifest their
feelings by embracing me ; but I fortunately
escaped. In this confused condition of thought
and feeling, the memory of my dear son and the
thought of what I could be to him aroused my
courage, which had succumbed at this terrible
crisis. It was necessary to pack up my small
wardrobe, which took only a short time. All
my effects were put in two bundles. I bade
farewell to Madame de la Fayette, who, with
several other persons, was destined to remain
in prisT)n. I felt very grateful for the pleasure
which, despite her unfortunate situation, she

During the French Revolution. 129

showed at seeing me released from bondage. I
engaged a commissioner at the grating, who
helped me with my baggage. We arrived safely
at the house of my mother-in-law, who then
lived on the Rue de Bellechasse. She received
me most kindly and tenderly. I found her with
my niece ; they did not expect me, and neither
did Monsieur Noel, who had on account of his
interest and attachment for me laboured to have
me liberated. He came to see me, and assured
me that Madame Drulh (a former governess of
Madame de Mailly) was very anxious to have
me stay at her house. I accepted the kind offer
for a few days, though I feared to compromise
her, since there was still great ill-feeling enter-
tained against our class. I went to see my
nurse, Royale. who was much moved at sight of
me , she had saved all she could for me. I
asked her for some mourning dresses, as I had
not worn any since the death of my parents.
Madame Latour came to see me. Our inter-
view was interrupted by bitter weeping. It is
impossible to imagine what I felt at seeing the
person who had last seen my parents, and who
had shown them such true affection ; it carried
me back to the first hours of my bereavement.
She thought me frightfully changed ; I looked
ten years older, and like one risen from the dead.

9

130 Prison Life

A few of the servants of our house also came
to see me. The number of those who were
faithful was very small, the Revolution having
made a portion of them ' patriots,' and some of
them even Terrorists.

It was a great pleasure to me to see my old
friends once more, — among others, Madame de
Tourzel, who had gone through more terrible
scenes than any of them ; she had made the
fearful journey from Varennes, had been sen-
tenced by the ' bloody tribunal ' of the 2d of
September, and had been six times imprisoned.
I could scarcely believe my eyes as I embraced
her. She showed under all the trying circum-
stances in which she was placed a courage be-
yond all praise. It was really pitiful, after the
solemn scenes in which we had been actors and
witnesses, to see the value we attached to the
small necessities of life after having been so
long deprived of them. It was an intense
pleasure to me to be able to use a knife, a clean
plate, scissors, to look in a mirror, etc. ; but
the greatest delight of all was to be no longer
subjected to the low and wicked. I feel some
gratitude, however, to Haly, the keeper, and
Tavernier, the clerk, for having preserved and
restored to me the clock I mentioned before,
which I valued very much.

During the French Revolution. 131

The deliverance from all my past ills was very
pleasant to me, but a pall seemed over every-
thing ; I felt a distaste for everything, as one
does for medicines. Accustomed as I had been
to be surrounded by sympathizing love, the
thought of my isolation overwhelmed me. It
seemed that though the period of my misfortune
was becoming more remote, liberty increased
the intensity of my feelings ; and my thoughts
grew sadder every day. The thought of death
necessarily most effectually blunts the edge of
grief, since it brings us near to the moment when
we find what we have lost, and we cease to
regret. My mind returned to its former grief
with renewed constancy, and I could no longer
open my heart to my friends. I was not sure
that my son was alive until I had been a long
time out of prison. I had planned to retire to
a village, with one servant, and there mourn for
my loved ones. The consolation of rendering
to the precious remains of my parents the duties
observed in all ages, and by all religions, was
refused me. Their ashes are mingled with those
of criminals in the cemetery of Picpus. the
ground of which has been bought by Madame
la Princesse de Hohenzollern, sister of the
Prince of Salm-Kirbourg. But at the last great
day when all hearts shall be opened, God will

132 Prison Life

know how to recognize his elect, and show
them, resplendent in glory, to the assembled
nations.

I was one of the first, after the re-establish-
ment of the church, to have prayers said for
my parents. A Mass was said for them at the
Foreign Missions. We have need of their pro-
tection I trust that their heavenly blessing
may rest upon their children and grandchildren
to the latest generation.

The forlorn situation of my mother-in-law,
who, though she had not been in prison, had
been under arrest in her own house with a dozen
jailers, who never left her until their pay failed,
determined me to devote myself to taking care
of her ; but I could not do this as the law
exiling nobles was not abrogated. We were
allowed only two ddcadis ^ to make our prepa-
rations, and immediately after were to retire some
leagues from Paris. It was necessary for me
to seek some shelter ; Madame de la Rochefou-
cauld-Doudeauville, a relative of mine, pro-
posed to me to come to her house in the country,
and assured me that I was welcome to anything
she had. Her kind feeling for me caused her
to offer what she really had not ; for the little

1 The division of ten days, by which the Republican
calendar supplanted the week — Tr.

During the French Revolution, 133

house which she occupied . in the village of
Wisson, near Longjumeau, was scarcely large
enough for her own family. I went to see it, and
concluded to rent some lodgings near her and
Mesdames de la Suze and de la Roche-Aymon.
I did not, however, have the opportunity to
occupy them, as I obtained a prolongation of my
sojourn in Paris, and during that time the law
was repealed.

After remaining six months at the house of
good Madame Drulh, I found a vacant room in
the house where my mother-in-law was staying,
which I took immediately. It was extremely
cold, and the winters of 1794 and 1795 were
very trying. I had no one to wait upon me. I
would come in to go to bed, and find the fire
had gone out, and this frequently after having
walked a long distance. I missed much of the
sunlight in the streets as I had to prepare both
my breakfast and my supper. In order to at-
tend Mass I had to go out before day and resort
to the secret places of worship, where pious
mechanics gladly received me. There was
nothing more edifying during the whole Reign
of Terror than the courage they showed in
procuring for the faithful the opportunities of
engaging in the exercise of their religion. I
dressed myself as a servant, and consequently

134 Prison Life

could not wear any of the warm crdpes which lux-
ury supplies for us ; this masquerade was neces-
sary in order not to make known the places
where the holy mysteries were celebrated.

On Christmas day, 1794, when the Reaumur
thermometer fell to eighteen degrees, I sat in the
Rue Montorgueil, near Montmartre, through the
whole of the office, the sermon, vespers, and
the benediction. I found myself on the Pont
Neuf at six o'clock in the evening, and the
north wind cut my face like a knife. I had
formed the habit, after leaving prison, of going
out into the streets alone ; I continued to do so,
and found it very convenient. I never took
cold once during that severe winter. I met my
old acquaintances from time to time, and always
felt deeply moved. We invariably talked about
the treatment in the different prisons, and the suf-
erings we had endured. Almost all the promi-
nent persons had been imprisoned, or at least
under arrest in their own houses, which was sub-
stituted only as a great favour in the case of the
infirm or aged. We found a certain variety in
the horrors ; but on comparison the Conciergerie
and the Plessis proved to have been the most
terrible of all the prisons, on account of the
treatment and the great number of victims who
were constantly taken from them to the scaffold.

During the French Revolution. 135

Madame Doudeauville very kindly persuaded
me to spend a few days with her at her coun-
try-house. Her loveliness, the attractions of
her home, the sincere sorrow she had felt at the
death of my parents, and her goodness to me,
cheered me somewhat, though I was so over-
come with grief. I had almost forgotten how
to write an ordinary letter, and had long been
entirely out of the habit of doing so. The care-
lessness of the style of this memoir and its dul-
ness are proof of what I have stated.

At last I received news from my son, and this
restored me to life.

The latter part of the winter was terribly hard,
on account of both the scarcity of food and the
cold. It was almost impossible to procure wood,
candles, or bread. We sent thirty and forty
leagues, for them. I carried something in my
pocket when I went out to dine, even at the
house of Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans, who
lodged in the Rue de Charonne, near the bar-
rier at the Faubourg St. Antoine. She boasted
of having a farmer who sent her a loaf of bread
weighing four pounds, every week. She had
wretched fare ; her dishes were what are com-
monly called culs-noirs. A dwarf served her as
butler and valet. She endured her poverty
nobly, and joked about it. I remember hearing

136 Prison Life

a lady say to the queen, the wife of Louis XVI.,
while she was at the Tuileries, that she knew
one woman more unfortunate than she, and that
was the Duchess of Orleans. She had inher-
ited a hundred and twenty millions from Mon-
sieur le Due de Penthievre, of which the
nation took possession, and did not even give
her enough out of it to support life.

The Revolution has taught us how to under-
stand poverty, by causing us to experience it
ourselves. Two farmers on the estate of Mou-
chy, whose names I record with gratitude, —
Duraincy and Isore, — sent me some flour. I am
sure a casket full of gold could never have
given me so much pleasure. People conversed
in the evening only of what they had eaten dur-
ing the day. Servants stood in line from three
o'clock in the morning trying to procure provi-
sions. Women and young girls often waited
twenty-four hours. Sometimes a whole day was
spent in obtaining a loaf of bread or two ounces
of something made of hempseed, green pears,
and all sorts of horrid stuff. Whenever I had
any of this unwholesome food I divided it with
those about me. It was the maximum ^ that
reduced Paris to this state of distress.

1 [The highest price at which food, at that time, was
allowed to be sold in Paris!

During the French Revolution. 137

Soon I found myself in a fresh dilemma, be-
ing sent away from my lodgings, which had
been rented to some one else. Madame de
Tourzel offered me a residence in the name of
Madame de Charost, and I accepted it ; it was
very high up. I dined with my mother-in-law,
and consequently^ in the evening, was exceed-
ingly weary from the number of steps I had
climbed ; for I was very much broken down
from all I had endured. The charming society
of that house amply repaid me for all the fatigue
I suffered. My mother-in-law was obliged to
leave the house where she was staying, and
Madame de Beuvron lent her hers. "We had
very fine lodgings, but our food was miserable.
My mother-in-law and I lived for three francs a
day (in assignats) at an eating-house, — the uncer-
tainty of the future compelling me to economize
the small means still left me. Both the quan-
tity and quality of the food was insufficient ;
nothing could be more disgusting than the meats
which were served us. I had Ions: been accus-
tomed to such fare ; but I grieved on my mother-
in-law's account, though she never complained
of it. She endured the horrors of her situa-
tion with admirable resignation and patience.
Heaven doubtless sustained her to the end of
her sad life. A most fortunate thing for me now

138 Prison Life.

happened : Madame de Beuvron went to occupy
her own house, and several apartments became
vacant in that of Madame de la Rochefoucauld ;
we took possession of them on the ist of Octo-
ber, 1/9). This arrangement was very much
more agreeable for me ; I have continued to
live there ever since, and I desire nothing bet-
ter. Being near my son and daughter-in-law
adds another attraction to it ; and as my life
now passes in the most commonplace fashion I
end this tiresome story, asking the reader to
excuse its faults.

Paris, February 11, 1804.

(Signed) Noailles de Durfort-Duras.

ADDENDA.

/^N re-reading my memoirs I find a great
^-^ many repetitions, particularly in the notes
where I have several times referred to Madame
Latour.

When my honoured father left the prison of
the Luxembourg to be removed to the Concier-
gerie he said in a sorrowful voice to the prison-
ers who accompanied him to the doorway : ' At
sixteen I went into the trenches to serve my
king ; at eighty I mount the scaffold in obedi-
ence to the will of God/

The ' Messager du Soir,' though an organ of
the Reign of Terror, inserted the following ar-
ticle in its columns on the 20th of May, 179^,
year III. of the Republic: —

' When the venerable Mar^chal de Noailles-
Mouchy, who was all his life the father of the
unfortunate, was led out with his good wife to
be beheaded, a wretch cried aloud : " Now the
sans-culottes will enjoy your bread and drink
your wine." He answered with that serenity
which a pure conscience bestows upon an

140 Prison Life

honest man : " God grant that you may have
bread for another year, and that you may not be
compelled to devour one another/' '

Different Notes and Memoranda relating to
Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy and
THEIR Daughter-in-law, Louise Noailles,

WHO WAS condemned AND EXECUTED THE

4th Thermidor, 22d OF July, 1794.

The following was brought to me from the
office by Robert Lindet, when I went to the
court sitting at the abbey of St. Germain to
reclaim the last will and testament of my father
and mother, which was then delivered up to me :

National Convenlion.

Committee of General Security of the Na-
tional Convention. Fifth day of the third de-
cade of the first month of the French Republic,
one and indivisible.

The Committee authorizes Citizen Braut to
go to Mouchy, near Beauvais, for the purpose
of arresting the citizen Noailles-Mouchy (whose
son^ the former Prince de Poix, has emigrated),

During the French Revolution. 141

the wife of the said Mouchy, and all other per-
sons who are suspected ; he shall conduct them
to the prison of La Grande Force, make all
necessary search and requisitions for papers, set
seals, and bring away everything that seems sus-
picious. After the seals have been affixed the
citizen Braut, in the virtue of these presents,
shall cause the citizen Mouchy to be arrested
wherever he shall be found, and also his wife
and other suspected persons. He can moreover
call for the assistance of the constitutional au-
thorities and the armed force.

(Signed) Vadier, Panis,

Lavicomterie, Jagot,
David, and Dubarrat.^

Certified to be conformable to the warrant
deposited in the clerk's office of the prison of
La Force by me the undersigned.

' Paris, 5 Prairial year II.

(Signed) S. F. Richelot, clerk.

1 The first Revolutionary tribunal had been established
by the law of the 17th of August, 1792.

142 Prison Life

Extract from the Minutes of the Clerk's
Office of the Revolutionary Tribunal,

ESTABLISHED AT PaRIS, MaRCH 10, 1 793.

By decision rendered the 9th Messidor,
year II. of the French Republic, at a public
session of the tribunal, composed of : Naulin,
vice-president ; Bravet, Legarnier, Launay,
judges, who signed the minute, together with
the clerk, upon the declaration of the jury, set-
ting forth that Phillippe Noailles-Mouchy and
others before mentioned in the said minute are
proven to have been the enemies of the people,
by having been accomplices of the traitor Capet
in the distribution of money employed by that
tyrant to bribe refractory priests by whose aid
the civil war was fomented ; by seconding with
all their abilities and means all the projects of
the former court to overthrow liberty, crush
the people, and re-establish despotism ; by hold-
ing intercourse with the enemies of the Republic,
for the purpose of obtaining men and money to
assist in the invasion of French tei'ritory ; by
seeking to promote by speech and writing the
degradation and dissolution of the national rep-
resentation and the re-establishment of the mon-
archy ; by assassinating patriots in the Champ

During the French Revolution. 143

de Mars, as well as by bringing about the civil
war, and seeking to excite citizens against one
another ; and finally, by seeking by every possi-
ble means to annihilate public liberty.

It appears that the tribunal, having heard
the examination by the public accuser, has, in
accordance with the law, condemned to death
Phillippe Noailles-Mouchy, aged seventy-nine
years, born at Paris, ex-noble, ex-duke, and
marshal of France, former governor of the pal-
aces of Versailles and Marly and of other places,
living at Mouchy, in the Department of the Oise,
and at Paris in the Rue de T University, and
declared his property confiscated to the Republic.

From an indictment drawn up by Fouquier,
the public accuser, on the 8th Messidor, year
II., the following extract has been taken ver-
batim : —

Noailles-Mouchy was the agent of Capet
for the distribution of sums of money by means
of which he bribed refractory priests, ^migrds,
and other accomplices of their infamous intrigues,
and paid them to commit their crimes.

Extract conformable to the minute given
gratis by me, the keeper of archives.

(Signed) Perret.

144 Prison Life

Copy of the label put upon the inkstand of
Monsieur le Marechal de Mouchy, found among
his effects at the Luxembourg, and vvhich has
been returned to his relatives : —

No. 20.

Noailles, upon ivhom the svjord of the law
has rendered justice.

Different Letters and Notes from my
Sister-in-Law, written from the Prison
OF the Luxembourg.

To Monsieur Grelet, her children's tutor, who

was like a father to them :

I confide to the keeping of Monsieur Grelet
my three children, — my two boys, and my girl.
I declare that it is my most positive and express
desire, in case I should come to want, that he
should have charge of them. I give over to
him all my rights and authority over them. I
implore him to be a mother to them, and under
no circumstances to allow any one to separate
them from him. I authorize him to remove
them from one place to another as may seem
best to him, — in short, to treat my children as if
they were his own. I am sure that all who care
for me will most sacredly regard this my desire.

During the French Revolution, 145

Written ill the prison of the Luxembourg,
this 24th Messidor, year II. of the French Re-
public, one and indivisible.
(Signed)
Louise Noailles, wife of Noailles.

Letter of the Same to the Same.

I send you, my dear friend, a short will
which I am told will be valid ; I keep a copy of
it in my pocket. Make the best use you can of
it as well as that of my mother, communicating it
to the proper persons when the time comes.
God has sustained and will sustain me ; I have
the strongest faith in Him. Farewell, my dear
friend ; I shall feel grateful to you even in
Heaven. Be sure of this. Farewell, Alexis,
Alfred, Euphemie. Love God all your lives ;
cling to Him always. Pray for your father and
live for his happiness. Remember your mother,
and that her dearest wish for you was that you
should be the children of God. I give you all
my last blessing. I hope to find you again in
the bosom of your Father. I shall not forget
our friends, and I hope they will not forget me.

The note enclosed is for Louis. [So she

146 Prison Life

called her husband.] Put it with the one you
already have

(Signed) L. Noailles.

Louise Noailles to her Husband.

You will find a letter from me, my husband,
written at different times and very disconnect-
edly. I should have liked to rewrite it, and to
add many things ; but that is impossible now.
I can therefore only renev/ the assurance of
the love which you already know I bear to you,
and which I shall bear with me to my grave.
You know what terrible circumstances surround
me, and you will be glad to learn that God has
cared for me ; that he has sustained my strength
and my courage ; that the hope of gaining, by
the sacrifice of my life, the eternal welfare of
you and my children will continue to encourage
me through the moments most terrible to the
flesh. May it please God that this thought may
decide you to live for eternity, and to strive in
unison with me. I confide to you my dear
children, who have been the comfort of my life,
and will be, I hope, the comfort of yours. I am
sure you will seek- to strengthen in them the
principles I have inculcated ; they are the only

During the French Revolution. 147

source of true happiness and the only means of
obtaining it. I have now, my husband, one last
request to make, — one which I am sure you will
think superfluous when you know what it is. I
implore you with my last breath never to sepa-
rate my dear children from Monsieur Grelet, in
whose charge I have left them. I charge my
dear Alexis to tell you all we owe to him.
There are no kind cares and attentions which he
has not shown me, particularly since I have
been in prison. He has been both father and
mother to these poor children ; he has sacrificed
himself for them and for me under the most try-
ing circumstances with a tenderness and courage
for which we can never be sufficiently grateful.
The only comfort I can have is to know that my
children are in his charge. You will not disturb
this arrangement, my husband ; and I am sure
you will have a sacred regard for this wish of
mine. I do not know what will become of my
poor Euphemie, but I declare to you that for a
thousand reasons I desire that the citizeness
Thibaut should no longer have the care of her.
My husband, I bid you a last farewell.
May we be once more reunited in Eternity.

148 Prison Life

From the Same to Alexis, her eldest Son,
the 2jth Messidor.

I charge you, my dear child, to give your
father a detailed account of the obligations we
are under to the citizen Grelet. 1 rely upon
your heart to make him understand all he has
been to you and to me. Do not forget to say
that he wished to share his purse with us, and
that we have lived entirely at his expense.

I send you, my dear children, my tenderest
love and kisses. . . .

The Same to Monsieur Grelet.

It was not my fault, my dear child [thus she
was accustomed to address Monsieur Grelet],
that you waited yesterday so long and in vain ;
I am very sorry for it, and also for all the trouble
that this mother and children cause you. Re-
member that you are the only and blessed com-
fort that I have in this world. I have not heard
from you since the little message you sent as
you were going out from breakfast at Citizeness
Raymond's till yesterday at half past eleven.
It was then too late for my answer to go out.
I have told you the condition of my linen. I am

During the French Revolution. 149

in great need of some ; get some for me from
my confidential servant.

I highly approve of your lodgings ; shall I
tell my sister-in-law^ that I insist upon your re-
maining with your brothers ? The letter which
you have seems to me more persuasive than
anything I could say.

Farewell, my dear children ; I love you all
four more tenderly than ever.

I am well as usual.

(Signed) L. Noailles.

Last Letter from Madame de Noaittes to
Monsieur Gretet.

I have received, my dear child, all that you
sent me ; I thank you a thousand times, and shall
never cease to repeat, as the poor do, ' God re-
ward you.' This is and ever will be the cry of
my heart, from above as well as from here below.
I am ashamed of having said yesterday ' this '
mother and children. The expression troubles
me ; I should have said as usual, and I do say
now with all my heart, /oar mother and your
brothers, whom you have specially under your
care, because you are the eldest. But for you,
my dear child, what would have become of them ?

ISO Prison Life

Farewell, dear, dear children ; I send you my
tenderest love and kisses.

(Signed) Louise Noailles.

Extract from the last Will and Testament
OF Anne - Jeanne - Catherine - Dominique -
Adrienne-Louise-Pauline Noailles, Wife

OF THE former ViCOMTE DE NoaILLES.

In the name of the Father, of the Son, and
of the Holy Ghost :

I commend my soul to God ; I die in the
religion of the Roman Catholic Apostolic
Church, in which by the mercy of God I was
born, and have always lived. My love for this
holy religion has grown with my growth ; I
trust that it will be my support when I come to
die, as it has been my strength and comfort
during every moment of my life. I believe
firmly all that it has pleased God to reveal to us,
and all that the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman
Church teaches.

I hope in its promises ; I put my whole trust
in the merits of Jesus.

I request Monsieur de Noailles, my hus-
band, to undertake the execution of my will ; I
am glad to give him in this last act of my life a

During the French Revolution. 151

fresh proof of my confidence, and of a love
which has made me so happy. I therefore
place in his hands all the interests I have of
every kind whatever.

I hope he will regard them as his own, and
that when he is occupied with the details he
will recall her who felt so truly happy in being
united to him and all she suffered for her love.
I beg him to accept the little bust of Adrien,
and the two portraits of our children. I bless
these dear children with my latest breath. I
implore them for the sake of the love I bear
them to draw near to God with all their hearts,
to strive to obey His laws. I assure them, by
my own experience, that only thus will they be
able to taste pure and lasting happiness amid
all the changes of this life. I beg them to re-
member that the desire for their real happiness
has been the continual object of my thoughts
and prayers, and that I shall never cease to im-
plore God for it if he mercifully receives me.
I leave them all the portraits of their father. I
charge them to reverence and love him all the
days of their lives, and to bring to his remem-
brance, by their great tenderness, her who gave
them birth. I beg them to remember that it is
to them I confide the care of his happiness ; and
I charge them to perform my duty toward him.

152 Prison Life

I commend myself to the prayers of my rel-
atives and friends, and rely upon them to have
prayers said to God for the repose of my soul.

I request the executor of my will (who shall
be Monsieur de Grammont in default of my
husband) to give to my mother and sisters what-
ever they may wish of the things which belonged
to me.

I give my mother a renewed assurance of
my most tender and filial affection. I owe her
a great share of the happiness of my life, and es-
pecially shall I owe her my eternal happiness if
God in his mercy receives me.

I request Madame de la Fayette, in the
name of the affection we bear each other, not to
give way to grief, but to bear up for the sake of
her husband and children. Her real happiness,
her interests, and the interests of all who are
dear to her will always be mine ; and I shall
bear them with me forever. I implore her and
also my two other sisters to remember that this
union which has been the delight and comfort
of our lives is not broken up, that we are
parted only for a little while, and that we shall
be reunited, I hope, for eternity. [Here follow
bequests.] I assure my father once more of
the true and tender love I have for him ; I beg
him to remember me, and to believe that as I

During the French Revolution, 153

prayed earnestly and unceasingly for his happi-
ness in this world, so will it be one of my dear-
est duties to implore the Father for him in
another.

Written at Paris, this 5th of April, 1794.

(Signed) Louise Noailles.

Codicil of the ^Ih Venddmiaire, Year II.
of the Republic.

In the name of the Father, of the Son, and
of the Holy Ghost :

Receive, O Lord, the sacrifice of my life ; I
give my spirit into thy hands. Help me, O my
God I Leave me not when my strength fails.

I have always lived, and hope by the grace
of God to die, in the Roman Catholic Apos-
tolic religion.

I forgive all my enemies (if I have any) from
the bottom of my heart ; I pray that God may
grant them his fullest pardon.

I request that payment may be made, etc.

Written at Paris, and

(Signed) Louise Noailles.

I learned on leaving the prison that there was
a certain lady named Lavet who had been at the
Conciergerie at the same time as Mesdames de

154 Prison Life

Noailles and d'Ayen. I hastened to go to see
her and ask for an account of their short and
terrible residence in that prison, which she gave
me as follows : —

Mesdames de Noailles and d'Ayen arrived
at the Conciergerie on the 21st of July, 1793,
excessively fatigued by their removal from the
Luxembourg, which had been made in very rough
wagons. They were suffering for want of food,
which it was impossible to procure for them, as
it was nine o'clock at night, and the rules of the
prison did not permit anything to be brought in
after nightfall. We could only give them some
gooseberry water to quench their thirst. They
were put into a dungeon where there were three
other women, one of whom knew Madame de
la Fayette by reputation. She took a kind in-
terest in her neighbours, and undertook to help
them to procure beds ; but the turnkeys having
discovered that they had not so much as forty-
five francs, — which sum they exacted for furnish-
ing them, — absolutely refused to supply them.
They had been robbed of everything at the Lux-
embourg ; the Vicomtesse de Noailles pos-
sessed only fifty sous. Madame Lavet, touched
by the situation of this unfortunate family, gave
her bed to Madame la Marechale de Noailles,
obtained one for Madame d'Ayen, and proposed

During the French Revolution. 155

to her daughter that she should lie down on a
cot. She would not do so, however, saying
that she had now too little time to live to make
it worth while to take the trouble. Madame
d'Ayen spent a greater part of the night trying
to persuade her to do so, but could not succeed.
The angelic woman borrowed a book of devo-
tions and a light, by means of which she read
and prayed to God constantly. She stopped
only long enough to wait upon her grandmother,
who slept at intervals for several hours. Every
time she awakened the grandmother read over
her indictment, saying to herself: ' No, it is not
possible that I am to die on account of a con-
spiracy of which I know nothing ; I will plead
my cause before ihe judges so that they shall
not be able to condemn me.' She thought of
her dress^ feared it was rumpled, arranged her
bonnet, and would not believe it possible that
the next day could be the last of her life.
Madame d'Ayen had fears, but no conviction
of the imminent danger which threatened her.
She dozed for a while. She was greatly wor-
ried, wishing to send her watch — the only thing
she had left — to her children. She urged her
companions to take charge of it ; but they did
not dare to do so. The Vicomtesse de Noailles
made the same request with regard to an empty

156 Prison Life

portfolio, a portrait, and some hair ; but she re-
ceived the same reply, that such commissions
would compromise them all. She made Madame
Lavet promise to tell Monsieur Grelet that she
should die in peace and perfect resignation, but
that she longed from the bottom of her heart to
see him and her children. Some one in that
sorrowful room uttered the name of her dear
sister, Madame de la Fayette ; she forbade
them to speak of her lest it should compromise
her. Madame de Noailles, the younger, of
whom I have just spoken, did not even think of
sleeping; her eyes were wide open, contem-
plating that Heaven which she was so soon to
enter. Her face showed the serenity of her soul.
Thoughts of eternity sustained her courage.
Such calmness was never seen in that terrible
place. She forgot herself entirely in caring for
her mother and grandmother.

At six o'clock in the morning, in order to
distract their minds, we undertook to give them
some breakfast. Mesdames de Boufflers brought
them some chocolate. They remained with
them a few moments and then bade them a
final farewell.

Nine o'clock struck ; the bailiffs came, and
found their victims surrounded by the weeping
friends who had known them onlv twelve hours.

During the French Revolution. 157

The mother made some arrangements in case
they should be acquitted. The daughter, who
never once doubted the fate which awaited her,
thanked Madame Lavet in her sweet, gracious
way, expressed her gratitude for all her kindness,
and then said : ^ 1 read good fortune in your
face ; you will not be beheaded/

This IS all that I have been able to learn from
Madame Lavet in reference to that terrible
scene.

(Signed) Noailles,

Duchesse de Duras.

MADAME LATOUR'S MEMOIR.

Containing an Account of the Life in the
Prison of the Luxembourg, where she
WAS imprisoned during the Years 1793
AND 1794, in Company with Madame la
Marechale Duchesse de Mouchy.

nPHE last two years, during which I shared
•*^ the misfortunes of Monsieur and Madame
de Mouchy, have abounded in such precious
moments to me that in order to preserve the
remembrance of them (not for myself, — to me
they are ever present, — but for those near to
me), I relate as an eye-witness the sad circum-
stances under which they manifested the nobility
of their souls, and the beautiful spirit in which
they endured their captivity,

I trust I may be pardoned for speaking of
myself frequently when I am talking about
them, and for saying ' we ' when I ought to say
Monsieur and Madame la Marechale ; but I
may say that their interests had become mine,
that my existence, on account of my attachment

i6o Prison Life

to them, depended so much upon theirs, that
everything I thought and felt was in common
with them. I was very careful in this matter ;
for they treated me with such distinction that it
often embarrassed me. They thought, these
honoured friends (may I be pardoned for ex-
pressing myself thus), that they were under
obligations to me ; but they were mistaken. I
was never more proud of anything than of
waiting upon them in prison. Let no one praise
me for it ; I do not deserve praise.

Madame de Duras has given in her memoirs
an account of the life her honoured parents led
at Mouchy. I cannot express the despair in
which they were left when she was taken away
from them ; they refused to take any nourish-
ment. I spent the whole night beside Madame de
Mouchy, who did nothing but weep and moan
over the loss of her dear daughter, so she always
called her. Ten days after her departure a body
of about sixty armed men arrived, with some
of the municipal authorities and the Commis-
sioners of the Committee of General Security,
furnished with an order to search everywhere
for a quantity of arms which were said to be
concealed in the chateau, and to arrest any one
who should be suspected. They found only
one pistol, but seized some title-deeds which

During the French Revolution. i6i

the fiodiste ^ was arranging for the purpose of
carrying them to the prescribed place of deposit.
The commissioners were in a rage, and had him
put in prison. They treated his wife, who was
in a delicate condition, in the most inhuman
manner, and took away their badges from the
municipal officers, who they declared were in
collusion with him. They threatened the whole
village, and said they were sorry they had not
brought a guillotine and cut off the head of
every citizen. They ransacked and almost
pulled down some portions of the chateau. The
commissioners demanded to see some lead
coffins which were supposed to be in the vault
of the chapel. After much searching they found
three of these. This capture did not satisfy
them ; they thought that money had been con-
cealed in the coffins, but they were mistaken in
their suspicion. They compelled the municipal
authorities, though not in accordance with their
duties, to assist in the search. The latter were
almost frightened to death.

The consternation in the village was so great
that no one dared move out of one's house. The

1 The /tvt/isU' [steward] was named Carbonnier. He
as well as his wife gave proof of the sincerest attachment
and fidelity to Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy. He
was imprisoned for a whole year in the Anglaises and the
Grande Force.

II

1 62 Prison Life

night was even more terrible. The peasants who
composed our guard became intoxicated with
the wine they found in the cellar, and fired
their guns off under the windows of the houses ;
we thought our last hour had come. At last,
after three days of searching, the chief commis-
sioner affixed the seals, seized all the silver, —
alleging as a pretext for doing so the fact that
some of the dishes had on them armorial bear-
ings, — drew up a proces-perbal, and allowed us
to pack up only in the presence of the jailers, so
that they might see what we carried away with
us. They restored the badges to the municipal
officers, and concluded to carry the /(/oi/s/^ away
with them. His wife was left on account of
her condition. We were so miserable during
the whole of the three days we passed under
the conduct of this troop, that, incredible as it
may seem, we were anxious to reach the prison
to which we were destined. Picture a court-
yard filled with the wagons in which we were
to be taken away, two large carts loaded with
title-deeds, coffins, a clock, some old pictures,
trunks, and other things ; the remains of the
dead scattered about ; pieces of wood, loose
papers, and other rubbish ; the ragged country
guardsmen with frightened faces, and one can
have some idea of the condition of Mouchy at

During the French Revolution. 163

the moment of our departure with the chief
commissioner, who made us halt at St. Brice
long enough for him to make inquiries about a
few persons in the vicinity, after which he
returned to his carriage content with his dis-
coveries. We talked a good deal as we
went along, and found out that they were
going to take Monsieur and Madame de
Mouchy to stay for the night at their own
house, pretending that it would be impossible
to procure even absolute necessities for them
at La Force at so late an hour. We reached
the Hotel Mouchy at two o'clock in the
morning.

The commissioner left them there two days,
during which time applications were made to
the Committee of General Security, who ordered
a suspension of the affixing of seals in the house.
Janon, the commissioner of the section of
Crenelle who was charged with this duty, ob-
served that it was not worth while doing it be-
cause there were no proper signatures. He was
requested to delay until the signatures could be
obtained. Unfortunately the members of the
committee had gone to dinner, and would not
reassemble till the evening ; then our commis-
sioner (a man named Braut) would listen to no
further entreaties, and declared that he had

164 Prison Life

done wrong not to execute his orders sooner.
He affixed the seals, and we started off in a
hack at ten o'clock at night. The coachman
lost his way, and took us to the Rue St. Victor,
where there was a house of detention. It was
almost one o'clock when we reached La Grande
Force ; the prison for men was separate from
that for women.

When it was proposed to leave Monsieur de
Mouchy at the former and take us to La Petite
Force, I thought Madame de Mouchy would
die on the spot ; and when it was necessary for
her to separate from her husband, it was only
by force that she could be torn from him and
led away to a room where nineteen women
were sleeping on hard beds of sacking. When
she was brought to the door, the turnkeys,
cross at being wakened from their sleep, hesi-
tated about receiving her ; but the clerk ordered
them to do so. She wept the whole night long.
She took it into her head that no arrangement
had been made about my not being arrested,
and that consequently I could not be allowed
to remain. I told her that the commissioner
had obtained an order from the Committee of
General Security on the subject. He brought
it to me at once. I was delighted at this
piece of good fortune, which greatly comforted

During the French Revolution. 165

Madame de Mouchy, who told me that it helped
her to bear her misfortunes. Our lodgings
were changed, and we took possession of the
new ones. We found in them the widow of the
mayor of Cassel, whose husband had been guil-
lotined eight days before. She was in despair.
I saw her pass whole nights on her knees upon
her bed, weeping and praying alternately. The
apartment was at the top of the house in the
quarter appropriated to the women of the town,
who kept up, though in prison, a frightful noise
from about five o'clock in the evening through
the whole night. They came to see Madame
de Mouchy to assure her of their innocence,
and to ask her to pay to them her garnish-
money. In the morning she received a message
from Monsieur de Mouchy, who proposed to
her to go with him to the prison of the Luxem-
bourg. She replied that ' since her separation
from him she had never ceased to declare that
she would give everything she had in the world
to be able to be with him, even though she slept
on a bed of straw.'

Some objections were made to this arrange-
ment, but they were overcome. When I in-
formed Madame la Marechale that all was
settled, she embraced me, and said, ' You could
tell me of nothing which could make me so

1 66 Prison Life

happy as this. Go at once and tell the minis-
tering angel who enables me to rejoin Monsieur
de Mouchy that I shall never forget the happi-
ness he has procured for me.'

Commissioner Braut, who had been very
severe to us at Mouchy, had become more
lenient. It was he who had obtained our trans-
fer to the Luxembourg. We went to La Grande
Force for Monsieur de Mouchy. Never was
there such an affecting reunion ; even the
turnkeys were touched by the sight, and so was
Commissioner Braut.

We went almost joyfully to the Luxembourg.
(Great God, how little one can tell what one
may be glad to do.) Our conductor left us in
the keeper's room. We remained there from
five o'clock till nine. A terrible scene took
place in that apartment ; the famous Henriot,
general of the Parisian army, came with his
flute to look for a patriot who had been un-
justly incarcerated at Caen, and afterward
brought to Paris. He had taken a great deal
of wine at a great dinner, where the guests
made terrible jokes about the aristocrats, say-
ing, with coarse laughter, ' Yes, we must have
twenty thousand of those creatures' heads.' We
had to wait until they were gone before we
could know where we were to be lodged. The

During the French Revolution. 167

room assigned us was one formerly occupied
by Brissot de Varville. The window was still
walled up. Madame de Mouchy's bed was
set directly over the place where formerly stood
the bed of her mother (Madame d'Arpajon
had an apartment at the Luxembourg, being
maid-of-honour to the Queen of Spain, Madame
d'Orleans), who was lodging there at the time
of Madame de Mouchy's birth. She frequently
told us of having been born in the Luxembourg,
of having been married there, and would add,
' and do you not think it strange that I should
be imprisoned here ? '

Although I did not really believe in the fate
which actually threatened her, this speech made
me shiver inwardly. The day after our arrival
was spent entirely in getting ourselves settled
to the best advantage in the small space allotted
to us.

The day after, the commissioner Betremieux
came to take Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy
to their house, so as to break the seals in their
presence. They had the pleasure of meeting
there Mesdames de Poix andde Noailles. All
passed off very well ; nothing of a suspicious
character was found. The procts-verbal was
properly made out, and we had some hopes^that
they would be allowed to remain in their own

1 68 Prison Life

house ; but we returned that evening to the
Luxembourg.

There were fifty-three persons there who were
well known to them, as they came from the
section about the fountain of Crenelle. An order
was sent to transfer the women to the An-
glaises ; those of them who were married
obtained permission to remain.

The keeper told me, as I had been told at La
Petite Force, that he could not allow me to re-
main in the house without the permission of the
committee. I told him that I had had that for
La Force ; he explained to me, very truly, that
this could not be used at the Luxembourg. He
advised me to send in a petition to be allowed
to stay, and promised me to say nothing if I re-
ceived no answer. I sent the petition, received
no reply, and he said nothing about me. We
had been ten days in that room when the com-
missioner Marinot (quite a well-known man)
entered with one of his agents. I had just
seen Monsieur Betremieux, and had made him
promise faithfully to come to see Madame de
Mouchy. We were pressing around him to in-
quire of him whether there was any hope of
being liberated. Marinot said to him, angrily,
' What are you doing here ? You are up to
some mischief I Get out I ' I began to tremble

During the French Revolution. 169

Vv^ith fright, fearing lest I had compromised
Monsieur Betremieux. This terrible man con-
tinued in the same tone : ' Why are there only
three persons in this room ? Five must be
put here ; ' and he made a figure five with
charcoal on the fireplace. Madame de Mouchy
said to him : ' Citizen, you do not think w^hat
you are saying ; five persons cannot stay here.'
' Ah ! why not ? ' M do not wish any one here
but my husband.' ' I will give you some old
men.' ' I will not have it so ; give me, rather,
another room.' ' I will see ; there is another
higher up.' He came back in half an hour, and
said as he opened the door, ' I have found a
very pretty room with a fine corridor, where
you can take exercise.' I went up to see it,
and also the ' fine corridor,' which was full of
big rafters, against which one would strike one's
head. This room had been used as an office by
Monsieur de la Marliere. The place where the
stove had been was newly plastered over, and
the walls were all blackened. One cannot
imagine a dirtier place ; it took me all day and
more to make it clean. A stove was put up in
this room ; but the fire could not be lighted in
it when the wind was from the south.

A description of this room and its furniture
will not be out of place. On one side of the

I/O Prison Life

doorway, to the right, was my bed of sacking,
set lengthwise ; I got into it at the foot. Mon-
sieur de Mouchy's bed was next to mine, and
Madame's was placed transversely. Under the
roof was a table and some of our dresses ; on
the other side of the grated window we put the
wood, two arm-chairs, two ordinary chairs,
another little table on which were other articles'
of wearing apparel. There were some plank
shelves to hold our dishes ; and one corner in the
corridor was reserved, to be used as a ward-
robe. My bed was a pantry during the day, a
seat in the evening ; and Monsieur de Mouchy's
bed was used in the same manner. We spent
five months in that terrible place, where the
most needy creature on the estates of Monsieur
and Madame la Marechale would not have been
willing to live. Their virtues sustained them in
a wonderful degree ; they were an example and
comfort to all who saw them. Their sweetness
and goodness were unfailing.

I have often seen persons come to the house
in despair, and utterly overwhelmed at finding
themselves in such a place. Messieurs de
Nicolai and de Laborde were so overcome that
they could not speak. My venerable friends
comforted them, cheered them, and induced them
to come to them for encouragement and strength.

During the French Revolution, 171

When the administrators arrived^ with their caps
pulled down over their eyes, to ask, ' Have you
no petitions to send in?' ' No, citizen ; only if
you could have my daughter, who is at Chan-
tilly, transferred to this place, I should be ex-
tremely glad.' One of them said, ' Yes ; that
ought to be done on account of their age.'
However, no steps were taken in that direction
till the arrival of Danton, Lacroix, and others.

On the 4th of December, 1793. Commis-
sioner Betremieux came to take Monsieur and
Madame de Mouchy to Mouchy, to be present
at the opening of the seals ; they remained there
three days, and breathed a little fresh air. Dur-
ing this time they tried, without success, to be
allowed to visit their house in the company of
keepers ; nor could they obtain leave to see
their daughter at Chantilly as they were on their
way back to Paris. The commissioner finally
took them to their own house, where they spent
the day with their daughters-in-law. They were
compelled to return to the Luxembourg in the
evening. This parting was even more trying
than the former ones ; the few servants who had
remained about the house hid their faces and
wept.

We returned to the same way of living. Our
days were passed in the following manner :

172 Prison Life

Monsieur de Mouchy rose first, at an early
hour, lighted his candle, said his prayers, and
took a little coffee ; then Madame de Mouchy
rose and took her breakfast. As soon as she
was dressed I went to wait upon Madame
d'Hautefort, with whom they used to live ; and
then I returned and made my toilet. After
this, they went out of the room so as to give
me time to put it in order. At this hour
they always went to see Madame la Duchesse
d'Orleans, and they always came away filled
with admiration for her angelic conduct. They
never exhausted their praises of her, — an evi-
dence of their own goodness. They returned
to their own apartment about half-past twelve
o'clock ; at one, dinner was sent them from their
own house. They never partook of this meal
without speaking of Madame de Duras, longing
for her, and grieving that they could not share it
with her, knowing she had such miserable fare.
Then some visitors would come in ; after that
Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy would go
out to dine with a neighbour, and after their
return would play piquet together. Monsieur
de Mouchy then walked about the house.
About five o'clock company assembled. The
guests were sometimes too numerous for the
size of our apartment, and also for my peace of

During the French Revolution. 173

mind, as I knew there were many spies about
us. The person who was my greatest source of
anxiety was the Prince of Hesse, who lodged
near us, and invariably walked up and down
continually in front of our door whenever we
had several of our friends together. He was
even seen with his ear against the door, trying
to hear what we were saying. He informed
against one of the keepers, who proved the
charge to be false, and had him transferred to
another prison, to my great delight. At eight
o'clock every one left, and we had supper.
Whenever we received any newspapers, they
usually arrived at this hour. Toward the last I
tried to find out in advance whether the names
of the victims contained in them were of the
persons whom Monsieur and Madame de Mou-
chy most dreaded to see in the list of the con-
demned ; if so, I suppressed them until the
next day. At ten o'clock we were all in bed.

A great change took place in Monsieur and
Madame de Mouchy. He was naturally ex-
tremely vivacious and she very quiet ; now he
became calm and she exceedingly restless, es-
pecially so when on certain days she did not
receive the usual communications which her
daughter took such trouble to send, and when all
sorts of unreliable news was brought by persons

1/4 Prison Life

entering the prison. The nobles, particularly,
were always sanguine. I have seen them make
out plans of campaigns which would bring Co-
bourg to Paris, and even to the very doors of
their prison, to conduct them in triumph to their
own homes. These unfortunate persons lulled
themselves with the false hopes lying so far in
the distance and never perceived the precipices
that were yawning beneath their feet.

During the period when we were allowed to
go to the courtyard and speak to our friends
through a grated window, each one would re-
turn and say, ' I have seen my wife (or my
daughter, or my servant), who could not ex-
plain herself fully, but assured me by a pres-
sure of the hand that all was going well.' If
a person of any distinction was seen in the
garden making the least possible signal of any
kind it was sufficient to arouse hope. I cer-
tainly did not share the hopefulness enjoyed by
most of the prisoners ; indeed, it frightened
me. I undertook at times to convince them
that they were too sanguine ; but I afterward
reproached myself for taking the liberty to do
so, for delusion was a necessity to them. Some
persons deluded themselves so completely that
they even found that there were some reasons
why their friends and acquaintances should be

During the French Revolution. 175

condemned, but were confident that they should
be exempt. Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy
were not of this sort ; on the contrary, they
considered their situation a very critical one.
One thing was done which alarmed us all ; pop-
ular commissions were sent out by the Com-
mittee of General Security, containing questions
to be answered by the prisoners. These ques-
tions were extremely captious. I think I can
remember them exactly, and also Monsieur de
Mouchy's answers.

By Order of the Committee of General Security ^
the Prisoners will answer truly and as briefly
as possible the following questions : —

QUESTIONS. ANSWERS.

Vour name ? Noailles Mouchy.

Your age ? In my seventy-ninth year.

Where did yoii live before In Paris, on the Rue de

and after the Revolution b^- I'Universite, and since the
gan, and since tJien ? 9th of September at Mouchy

with my wife and my
daughter.
Are you a maj-ried man ? I have been married fifty-

If so, how long since you two years to Anne Claude
were married ? Louise d'Arpajon.

The number of your chil- Three children : one daugh-
dren, their age, and their ter forty-nine years old,
whereabouts'? married to the former Due

de Duras, and now a pris-
oner at Chantilly; Phillippe

76

Prison Life

QUESTIONS.

Your profession before and
since the Revolution ?

Value of your property be-
fore aiid si) ice the Revolu-
tion ?

With whom have you asso-
ciated before and since the
Revolution ?

Have yo7i not signed reso-
lutions derogatory to liberty ?

What have you done for the
Revolution ?

ANSWERS.

de Poix, forty years, wha
left France to save his life,
as a price was set on his
head ; Louis Noailles, aged
thirty-seven, left France with
all the pass-ports required at
the time, and is now in
North America.

I have been a soldier from
my youth ; and I have risen
to the rank of Marshal of
France.

My income before the
Revolution was more than a
hundred thousand livres ; for
two years one of my es-
tates in Languedoc has been
under sequestration under
pretext that I had emigrated
(though this was proved not
to be so), by order of the
Committee of General Secu-
rity. The subsidies and the
forced loan, under which I
have just been obliged to
relinquish a considerable
sum, render it impossible for
me to furnish any correct
valuation.

With, my relatives both
before and since.

I have never signed any
resolutions.

All that was required of
me.

During the French Revolution. 177

Madame de Mouchy added : —

' Having been united to my husband for fifty-
two years I have entertained no opinions differ-
ering from his.'

[Then followed their signatures.]

We had great difficulty in persuading Mon-
sieur de Mouchy to agree to answer the aforesaid
questions ; at first he positively refused, declar-
ing that he. would never do anything so revolt-
ing. I consulted different members of his
family and some of his companions in misfor-
tune, who said that it was impossible for him to
escape answering the questions, and that the
answers given, and which I have just written
down, w^ere quite sufficient. There were al-
ways, they said, some etceteras. Certain persons
of whom I have spoken, who were always too
sanguine, thought that the interrogatories would
hasten the acts of liberation ; but, on the con-
trary, we were not left long in peace, and the
harsh treatment increased. Then the conspir-
acy entered into by Vincent Savart and Grand-
mont (which I believe was the only real one)
broke out. We were then forbidden to walk
in the courtyard or to receive newspapers ; and
we were extremely restricted in every respect.
After a while we were again allowed to have the
newspapers, but never again to walk except in
12

178 Prison Life

the galleries, where it was impossible to take a
step without running into one another. So
many persons were brought in that every place
was full, although many were sent off to the
tribunal every day.

Danton, Lacroix^ Camille Desmoulins^ etc.
arrived. There was a knocking at our door at
six o'clock, and we were told to prepare to move
our quarters. The turnkey said to me ' Hurry !
some fine people are coming and we need this
room as a place of close confinement.' I asked
him where the room was which was to be given
us ; he did not know, but the jailer who followed
conducted me to it. It was, Monsieur and
Madame de Mouchy thought, sufficiently large
to accommodate their daughter, if she could be
brought to the Luxembourg. There was a fire-
place in it which gave me infinite satisfaction
whenever I saw Monsieur de Mouchy warming
himself in front of it ; for he had been freezing
for five months, as we had only one little stove,
which gave him the headache w^henever the fire
was lighted in it.

On the )th of April, 1794, about a fortnight
after we had been established in our new lodg-
ings, a convoy arrived from Chantilly. Mon-
sieur Randon de la Tour, who was of the party,
came very early in the morning to tell our dis-

During the French Revolution. 179

tinguished old couple that Madame de Duras
was in Paris, and had positively received orders
to come to the Luxembourg during the day.
They were perfectly delighted. But the whole
day passed and she did not come ; and we learned
that she was at the Plessis. We hoped that she
was there only temporarily ; as she still did not
come we sent the most urgent petitions to the
administrators for her transfer. Hopes were
held out to us, but Providence had decreed other-
wise ; and if our prayers had been answered,
she would not now be living. After a while
however we began to hope again. One day
a man named Vernet said to me in a mysterious
tone, ' There is some one of your acquaintance
below whom the citizen Mouchy will be glad
to see.' I said, ' Surely it must be the citizeness
Duras.' (He knew that her father had asked
to have her sent here as he had himself carried
two messages to the Committee of General
Security.) Vernet replied, ' I cannot say ; there
are several persons.' I ran to repeat the con-
versation to Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy,
who did not doubt it was their daughter with
other ladies whose husbands were in the Lux-
embourg and who had petitioned to be allowed
to join them. We arranged the room so as to
be able to put a bed in for her : and to our as-

i8o Prison Life

tonishment, after waiting a whole hour, Madame
la Marechale de Noailles, Madame la Duchesse
d'Ayen, and Madame la Vicomtesse de Noailles
entered. Monsieur de Mouchy was entirely
upset by this. He had a very bad cold, and his
fever rose immediately. He greatly dreaded
the imprudence of his sister-in-law, who was
very light-headed. He said that nothing could
be more disagreeable to him than to have her so
near him. These ladies told how, after having
been tossed about from prison to prison^ they
had with much difficulty obtained permis-
sion to be sent to the Luxembourg that they
might be near him. They were lodged above
us in an entresol. The apartment was soon
prepared. The furniture was very scanty, and I
undertook to arrange it ; I never saw worse
beds. These ladies, like most of those who
were condemned in advance, entered the prison
feeling quite sure of being soon restored to
liberty. As usual, only fifty francs had been left
to each of them by the turnkeys ; they were ad-
vised to provide themselves with a little more cash.
Madame la Marechale had twelve hundred francs
and the Vicomtesse, her granddaughter, had two
hundred francs. They were told that this would
be enough for their expenses for a month. This
money did not last them very long as it was all

During the French Revolution. i8i

taken a short time after in the well remembered
general search. The following is a detailed
account of the manner in which our search was
conducted. In the morning, as I opened the
shutters of my room, I saw an armed guard in
the courtyard, — an unusual circumstance. I
went out into the corridor to get some wood
which was piled up there, and found four mus-
keteers at our door-way with the jailer, who
said, ' Go back into your room, citizeness.' I
said, '■ I am not going out ; I am going to get
some wood.' ' Go back, I tell you.' I obeyed
trembling and fearing that something was about
to happen to Monsieur and Madame la Mare-
chale. I went up to Madame la Marechale's
bed and said to her as quietly as possible, ' I
don't know what is going on, but there are
guards in the court and in the corridor, and the
jailer would not allow me to get any wood.'
She answered, ' I thought I heard them. My
God ! what can it be ? ' I went back to the
window and saw that there were musketeers
also on the pavilion opposite, which somewhat
reassured me. I concluded that it was a gen-
eral arrangement for the whole house. Two
sentinels had been posted at our door, and I
tried to have some talk with them. One good-
natured fellow to whom I furtively gave a glass

1 82 Prison Life

of wine said to me in a low voice : ' We do not
know why we are here. Orders were sent to
the section of the Observatory for us to rise at
three o'clock this morning ; we were led here,
and ordered not to speak to any one nor to
allow any one at all to come out of the apart-
ments.' We did not learn very much from that
interview. I made ten attempts to go up to
see Mesdames de Noailles, but was always pre-
vented. Nothing was allowed to enter the
house ; dinner was not brought in till five
o'clock in the evening. We questioned the
turnkeys, but they said that they knew nothing.
We were obliged to go to bed without finding
out anything about what was going on. The
sentinels remained at our doors all night, or
rather for four days, as we were among the last
who were searched ; and we had no communica-
tion with our neighbours till the second day,
when one of them knocked gently at an unused
door which opened into our apartment and told
us that a very strict search was going on, that
money, scissors, knives, etc. were being taken.
We made the disclosure to Monsieur and Ma-
dame de Boisgelin in the same way. A man
who waited upon them had gone out the day
before to get some water and had not returned.
At last I obtained permission to go to see

During the French Revolution. 183

Mesdames de Noailles ; the distinguished vi-
comtesse had made the beds, washed the dishes,
and in spite of all was in fine spirits. She joked
about her labours, which were quite extensive,
and the more so since the deafness of the three
ladies caused them frequently to misunderstand
one another. At night she tied one end of a
string to her arm and the other to her grand-
mother's bed so that the latter might^waken her if
she needed her during the night. She dressed
her, attended to an abscess she had, and also to
one of her mother's. She had scarcely time to
breathe, and her zeal stood her instead of natu-
ral strength. I had, as I have said, obtained
permission to go and wait upon her. I had
plenty to do, for I rendered the same services
to Monsieur and Madame de Boisgelin.

Our turn to be searched came at last on the
fourth day, at eleven o'clock in the morning.
The sentinels had been withdrawn the day be-
fore, at ten o'clock at night. Monsieur de Ba-
quencourt, who lodged in our quarter, took
advantage of the first opportunity to come and
tell us that the search was terrible, that a pris-
oner had assured him that he had been entirely
stripped, that he had at first concealed his
assignats, but had afterward shown them as he
preferred to give up everything rather than to

1 84 Prison Life

get into trouble. The idea of being stripped
and searched worried us very much ; but there
was no getting out of it.

All took place as he foretold ; the municipal
authorities and the guards made the search.
When they came to the assignais I said, ' Citi-
zens, are you not going to count them ? ' One
of them answered scornfully, ' We need not
count them in order to conquer the enemies of
the Republic' ' I am sure of that,' I replied ;
' for they could not be conquered with paper.'
Madame de Mouchy made a sign to me to be
silent. Eight or ten days after, the committee
ordered the account of each prisoner to be made
out over again. This was done in the keeper's
apartment. Then we went back to the same
old life. We tried to get accustomed to doing
without scissors and knives, but it was very in-
convenient ; and what was still more disagree-
able, the turnkeys, who formerly could receive
money for small services rendered, were forbid-
den to do so any longer, and this made them
very cross. The establishment of a public table
was also spoken of, which greatly distressed
Madame de Mouchy. Soon after this a com-
mission was appointed to examine the prisoners ;
a good many of them were anxious for it. The
day it was announced loud cries of * Vive la

During the French Revolution. 185

Republique ! ' were heard in the galleries. It
did not take place, however, till two months
afterward. One day about that time I was
sitting at work when some one called for me. I
found at the door the jailer (no longer the good
Benoit) with two turnkeys, who asked me :
' What are you doing here ? '

' I have been here for six months with the
Citizen Mouchy and his wife.'

' Very well ; but what are you doing here ? '
' I do whatever I can for them.'
' Where is your entry in the jail-book ? '
' I have none ; I came here voluntarily.'

* You were not arrested, then ? '
^No.'

' Are you their confidential friend ? '
' Yes.'

* What is your name ? '

I gave my signature. I asked him why he
asked me all these questions. ' You are not
going to send me away ? '

' Oh, no ! Benoit's papers are not properly
drawn up, and I am taking a census of all
who are in the house.'

Madame de Mouchy was very much agi-
tated during this examination. She was reas-
sured when she learned that it was only a
census ; but I was not. I endeavoured not to

1 86 Prison Life

show to her the anxiety I felt and which was
only too well founded.

One morning, about a month after this, the
same jailer came into Madame la Mar^chale's
room and said to her : ' I have come to inform
you that you must send away your confidential
attendant within twenty-four hours ; I have just
received the order/ She replied, ' Citizen, I
cannot do without her ; I am very infirm, and so
is my husband/ I asked him if I could stay if
I became a prisoner. ' I do not know.' I
begged him to send us the first prison-director
who came to the place. He agreed to do so.
I sent for Vernet, that he might speak for me.
Madame de Mouchy was so good as to implore
him so earnestly to do me this service that I
could not help shedding tears ; she offered to
give him all the jewels and assignats she had
left. He would not accept anything ; but prom-
ised to do all we asked, and did nothing. I
gave him a petition I had written to the Com-
mittee of Police, in which I requested most
earnestly to be enrolled as a prisoner. I repre-
sented to them the infirm condition of Monsieur
and Madame de Mouchy, how impossible it was
for them to be left alone, how long I had been
with them, and added that I thought it a Re-
publican virtue to assist suffering humanity. At

During the French Revolution. 187

the same time I asked the jailer to allow me to
wait for an answer; and I begged Vernet to
bring the administrator to us, which he did on
the following day.

It was Vitrich, who has since died, with his
friend Robespierre. He said to me, 'We have
read your petition. You are very good to wait
upon these old people ; but I have nothing to
do with that. The order is from the Committee
of General Security, and you must go. You have
only to make a similar petition to them, and
surely you will receive their permission to re-
turn.' I begged him with tears, for I was des-
perate, for permission to remain till the next
day ; and he granted it.

I cannot express the horrors of our situation
after this cruel sentence. Dear, venerable old
couple, how much they suffered ! This separa-
tion seemed only to presage one more terrible
still. We wept all night long. I was almost deter-
mined to remain, no matter what happened to me.
For three whole days my daughter never left the
door in her anxiety to hear from the turnkeys
what I had concluded to do. She was terribly
frightened about me. A prisoner, whom I did not
know, influenced me to a decision ; he stopped
me and said, 'Citizeness, I have learned that
you are hesitating about leaving here ; I think

1 88 Prison Life

I ought to tell you that you are doing wrong.
This evening you will be entered in the jail-book,
and perhaps sent to-morrow to another prison ;
the greater attachment you manifest for Madame
de Mouchy the more you will be suspected.
Believe me, you had better submit. A more
favourable moment will surely come, and you
can then rejoin her ; above all conceal your
tears, for you are watched.' I thanked him,
and informed Monsieur and Madame de Mou-
chy of his advice. They then urged me to go. We
consulted together as to what I was to do in
order to be allowed to return. Hoping to cer-
tainly do so, I left all my belongings. Messieurs
d'Henin and de Boisgelin assured me that the
separation would not be long, and that as soon
as I should see the committee I could ask that
Madame de Duras might be sent to join her
parents ; and they would surely grant my
request.

When the fatal moment arrived I felt that it
would be utterly impossible for me to say to
Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy, ' I am
going to leave you now ; ' so I said that I was
going to see some of the prisoners to ask for
messages from them. They all sympathized with
my sorrow. Madame la Vicomtesse de Noailles,
the younger, threw her arms around me, and

During the French Revolution. 189

burst into tears. I tore myself from her, and
hid behind a door, to try and recover myself.
As I passed along the galleries all the prisoners
congratulated me ; for my part I wished they
were all in my place. When I reached the door
I thought I should faint ; I wanted to go in to
see the keeper, but the turnkey who had the
key prevented me. ' Take care !' said he to me,
' there is a clerk in his office who is vexed with
you ; go on.' I cannot express all the different
feelings which assailed me on getting into the
street ; my despair at leaving Monsieur and
Madame de Mouchy, my reunion with my
daughter, the open air which I had not breathed
for seven months, — all bewildered me. One
thing is certain, I could not tell what streets I
passed through on my way to the Hotel Mou-
chy. Instead of seeming delighted to see my
daughter, I replied to all she said only with tears.
The first thing I did was to beg Monsieur
Noel to send my petition to the committee as
soon as possible, which he did. He received
no reply. It was impossible to gain an inter-
view. I did not knov/ to whom to apply.
Madame de Poix was at the Hotel Mouchy
under guard. She had been imprisoned only
twenty-four hours on account of her weakness.
She asked me many questions concerning her

1 90 Prison Life

distinguished parents, wept much with me, and
still hoped that I might be able to return to
them. I had an opportunity to see the depu-
ties from my district, who had just saved my
brother from the guillotine. I thought they
would be willing to render me a service also. 1
implored them in vain, however, and received
from them only mockery of my attachment, and
the most positive refusal. At last, repulsed in
every direction, nothing was left but to have
myself arrested. This was my plan ; I thought of
it unceasingly. The only thing that prevented
me was the almost complete certainty of being
sent to some other prison than the Luxembourg.
The tidings I received from day to day were
more and more distressing. Monsieur de Mou-
chy wrote me: ' Come back to us ; Madame de
Mouchy has been so grieved at your absence
that her abscess has dried up, — a thing which
never happened before.' Another time he said,
* We cannot get accustomed to your absence,
nor to doing without you. The two or three per-
sons who wait upon us, no matter how willing
they may be, cannot accomplish in the whole
day what our dear Latour used to do in two
hours, and without difficulty.'

All this went to my heart. * I wrote to them
every day, and gave them more hope of my re-

During the French Revolution. 191

turning to them than I entertained myself. I
went frequently to carry them provisions, as
well as to learn how they were from the turn-
keys, who were on good terms with me. I
also went into the garden, where I had the
sad consolation of seeing them at the window.
The prisoners knew me so well that as soon as
they saw me they would hasten to tell my
friends. Their sad and downcast faces broke my
heart. I dared not make the least sign to them as
I was constantly watched. The last day that I
went there with my daughter a man followed us
persistently, and drove us away. My daughter
was sure then that we were going to be arrested.
It was the last time that I ever saw Madame de
Mouchy. Two days after, Monsieur de Mou-
chy sent me word that she had had a severe attack
of indigestion, accompanied by violent vomit-
ing, all through the night ; that they needed
me more than ever.' He told me to send him
a bottle of mineral water for her to take as a
purgative. The day she took it. Monsieur le
Marechal wrote me at four o'clock in the
afternoon that the purgative had not agreed
with her at all, that Madame la Marechale could
not retain any nourishment, and requested me
to send her an injection immediately. I was
extremely anxious. It was too late for me to

192 Prison Life

be able to speak to any one, as all the doors
were closed at five o'clock. I determined to
go to see the turnkey early the next morning,
and find out whether I might be allowed to wait
upon her ; but it was then too late. Everything
was useless ; the end of all their troubles was
approaching.

Just as I was getting into my bed there was a
loud knocking at my door. I trembled as I
opened it. I was surprised to see Monsieur
Noel, who looked frightened, and said, ' A mes-
senger was sent to the Luxembourg this evening
to inquire whether Monsieur and Madame de
Mouchy were there, and I cannot imagine what
it means.' I cried, ^ It is well known that they
are in that house, and such inquiries are super-
fluous,— unless/ I added, seeing that his agita-
tion was increasing, ' Madame la Marechale,
being ill, has asked for me again, and some
prison-director has been to inquire into her con-
dition.' ' I hope it may be so, I will learn to-
morrow morning early what it is all about, and
will come and tell you.' We spent the night in
the greatest excitement, and I rose very early.
I went to Monsieur Noel's house at seven
o'clock, but he had already gone out. He came
to my house crying, or rather screaming, ' It is
true,' said he ; ' all is over ! They are at the

During the French Revolution. 193

Conciergerie.' Nothing else that I have ever
suffered in my life can be compared to what I
felt at that moment. However, I did not alto-
gether lose my self-control ; enough was left
me to see that poor Monsieur Noel was entirely
beside himself. He beat his head so violently
against the wall that I really feared he would
crush it. After the first moments of his despair
had passed, he said, ' I will go out again ; I will
go to the Conciergerie ; I must see them ! ' ' And
I will go too,' I cried. ' No, no,' he answered.
' Is Madame de Duras there ? ' 'I have not
been able to learn.'

He returned about nine o'clock in the morn-
ing. ' Well,' said I, ' have you heard anything ?
Is there no hope?' 'No, no,' was all his
answer. ' And Madame de Duras r ' ' She is
not there.' He asked me to go and tell the sad
news to Madame de Poix. I should have been
glad to be spared this, for I scarcely had the
strength to do it ; but he went out again, and I
was obliged to go also. She was in absolute des-
pair. Monsieur Noel advised me to go away
from the house, lest I should be sent for as a
witness. I would not do so. I did not know
where to go ; I preferred, I said, to die with
them rather than after them. At last I v/as per-
suadedto go to the house of one of my friends.
13

194 Prison Life

Before going, however, I charged them to
take some dinner to the Conciergerie. It was
possible that these precious victims might re-
main there several days. They sent it back with
their thanks, but untouched.

At five o'clock in the evening I left my
friend's house, being no longer able to resist
the desire to hear what was going on ; I met
my daughter coming to see me. Her agitated
countenance confirmed my fears. I met Mon-
sieur Noel ; he said not a word to me as he
passed me, nor I to him. We did not even dare
to look at each other. I went the next day
again to see Madame de Poix, whose whole
appearance was utterly changed. She had lost
not only her distinguished parents but Madame
de Biron, her intimate friend from childhood.
She asked me kindly what I was going to do.
' Nothing,' I answered, ' but await my fate
here.' I thought that, not having been able to
share that of Monsieur and Madame de Mou-
chy, I might be allowed to follow that of
Madame de Duras, believing that none of us
would escape death. Madame de Noailles
wrote me three or four days after our loss a
note which I am inconsolable at having burned,
but I was compelled to do so. It contained such
a touching description of how Monsieur and

During the French Revolution, 195

Madame de Mouchy remembered me in their
last moments, and expressions of Madame de
Mouchy's sympathy in my sorrow in spite of
all her own suffering, that it caused me, for the
first time, to give way to tears. Until then I
had been like a stone.

Within ten days after the death of my hon-
oured master and mistress, I was called upon to
mourn for all those of their acquaintance at the
Luxembourg who had shown me much kindness,
among them Mesdames d'Hautefort, Madame
de Noailles, and others. Twenty days later we
sent some linen to Madame de Duras, which
was not received ; this frightened us on her
account, for we feared she was no longer there.
And finally I became terrified on my own ac-
count. I had the greatest possible horror of
death. I feared I never should have sufficient
resignation to endure the last twenty-four hours ;
but I hoped that my courage would not fail me
in my last moments if I could be with those
from whom I could receive consolation. The
preparations for execution made me cold with
fright. I felt that the courage which would
have enabled me to bear anything in company
with Monsieur and Madame de Mouchy had
abandoned me. On the other hand it was
strange that I should have such a terror of death,

196 Prison Life

being otherwise perfectly indifferent concerning
my fate. My relatives and friends pitied me.
not only on account of the loss I had just sus-
tained, but on account of my financial poskion,
knowing that I had no means at all. I answered
that this did not concern me in the least. My
mind continually reverted to what Monsieur de
Mouchy had said to me one day : he thanked
me for a small service I had rendered him, and
added, ' God will reward you, my dear child, for
all the trouble you have taken for me. I am
sure you will never want for anything.'

I was obliged, in spite of all my indifference
to fate, to ask to have back again the furniture
of my room, for which I had to pay four hundred
francs, with a guarantee from Monsieur Noel.
We left that house after having drunk the cup of
sorrow to the dregs, having seen it all stripped
of furniture and thrown into utter disorder.
The commissioners received from our hands
everything belonging to Monsieur de Mouchy
and Madame la Marechale, treating the things
in the most insulting and indecent manner.

Robespierre was beheaded. Madame de
Duras was liberated the i6th of October, 1794.
But, oh, how changed she was I It was dread-
ful to see her. She seemed, as she said herself,
like one risen from the dead. In spite of her

During the French Revolution. 197

trials it was evident that her courage had not
failed. Her first thought, and also that of Ma-
dame de Poix, on being once more in the en-
joym^ent of liberty, was to see that I had means
of support, and to find out all ways of rendering
me assistance.

EVENTS OF THE 21st OF JULY, 1794.

Monsieur Grelet's Account.

TT was the 21st of July, 1794 (2d Thermidor,
-*- year II.) ; I was on my way to the Luxem-
bourg at half past seven o'clock in the evening,
to carry to Madame de Noailles a bundle con-
taining some wearing apparel. When I reached
the lower end of the Rue de Tournon, I saw in
front of the door of that prison a great mob of
men and women, which made me feel very anx-
ious. I deposited my bundle in a shop on that
street where a young woman stayed who was the
friend of Madame la Duchesse d'Ayen's waiting-
woman, and went on toward the prison.

When I came among the crowd I had no dif-
ficulty in discovering what was going on, par-
ticularly when I saw a great open wagon with
benches fastened alone: the sides. I knew at
once that it was there to receive the prisoners
who were to be transferred to the Conciergerie
to be beheaded the next day ; this thought
made me shiver. I had a presentiment that the

200 Prison Life

ladies in whom I was interested would be among
the victims. I was anxious to see the prisoners
taken away, and approached the door as nearly
as I possibly could. A turnkey came out, and
perceiving me said, * Go away ; they are
coming.'

I did not go away. I thought it would be
the last time I should ever see those ladies, and
this sad thought rooted me to the spot. The
turnkey went in again. A little while after the
door opened and the prisoners appeared, pre-
ceded by two gendarmes. Madame la Vicom-
tesse de Noailles was the first of the ladies to
come out. She passed very near me, took my
hand and pressed it affectionately. The gen-
darme who walked beside her assisted her to
get into the wagon. Madame d'Ayen and Ma-
dame la Marechale got in immediately after her.
One of the gendarmes had seen Madame de
Noailles give me her hand. Then five or six
other ladies got in and as many men as it would
hold. I moved away and tried to conceal my-
self in the crowd. Madame de Noailles still
saw me, however, for the wagon had not yet
started. As it would not hold all the prisoners,
about fifteen of them followed on foot, escorted
by gendarmes. While all the preparations for
this transfer were being made, Madame de

During the French Revolution. 201

Noailles, who again recognized me, clasped her
hands, made me a sign to pray and that she was
praying. A moment afterward she lifted her
head, and pointing with one finger to heaven
she gave me her blessing. The crowd won-
dered to whom her gestures were addressed ;
and I gazed as others did, trying to act just as
though they were not addressed to me. Ma-
dame de Noailles apprised her mother that I
was near the wagon. Madame d'Ayen bowed
and kissed her hand to me several times. I
could not take any notice of this ; such gestures
alone would have been more than sufficient to
compromise me.

At last, after half an hour spent in prepara-
tion, the wagon started and went down the
Rue de Conde. I followed it as far as the
Conciergerie. About midway this street, in a
part of it which is very narrow, I could almost
touch at the same time both the houses at the
side and the wagon. Madame de Noailles, who
never lost sight of me, gave me her blessing
three times, — one for each of her children. I
continued to follow the wagon as I would have
followed the funeral procession of persons whose
death was to plunge so many families into such
terrible grief.

As I was crossing the Pont Neuf, the wagon

202 Prison Life

being not far off and just turning round the
Quai des Lunettes, a gendarme called out be-
hind me, ' I arrest you ; I know you/ I did
not give him a chance to arrest me but ran
along the Quai des Lunettes. The gendarme
followed me ; I ran down the Rue de Harlay,
which crosses the Island of the Palace. The
gendarme was far behind me crying, ' Stop him !'
It was eight o'clock, — just the hour when
the workmen were leaving their shops. They
thought I was a prisoner escaping ; several tried
to stop me, but I kept them off with my cane.
On reaching the Quai des Orfevres I fell, and
w^as seized by two workmen ; the gendarme over-
took me, and I made no further effort to escape.
A man came up who said he was a justice of the
peace, and inquired of the gendarme why he had
arrested me. The gendarme replied that I was
intriguing with the prisoners. I thought it use-
less to attempt to defend myself. As the gen-
darme was taking me to the prefecture of police,
I saw some distance off Madame de Noailles
and the other prisoners going into the prison of
the Conciergerie.

I w^as put into a dungeon where there was a
small window, which admitted only a few rays
of light. I took advantage of this to destroy
some papers which would have been sufficient to

During lh3 French Revolution, 203

compromise me. Fortunately I preserved my
carte de siireU^ which I had only had a few days.
I had just torn up and destroyed the papers,
part of which I swallowed, when the door
opened and showed me a jailer, who ordered me
in menacing tones to follow him. After having
led me through some dark corridors he shut me
in a very small dungeon, secured by an iron
door, through which no light could penetrate.
This dungeon was circular in form and extremely
small. There was a stone bench against the wall.
As I entered I had seen by the light of the lamp
carried by the jailer something on the floor
which sparkled. When the dungeon door was
closed on me I was in total darkness. I felt
around to find out what had occasioned the
flashes of light to which I have referred. I
found that they proceeded from some bits of
glass which were on the edge of a very small
opening made in the wall. I seated myself on
the stone bench and began to reflect on my sit-
uation, on that of Mesdames de Noailles, whom
I had just seen for the last time, and on that
of their poor children, who were waiting for
me before going to their evening meal. Then
I realized all the horrors of my situation. And
when I thought of all that was to take place the
next day, I fell on my knees and prayed to God

204 Prison Life

with all the fervour of which I was capable. I
implored him to accept the sacrifice of my
life in expiation of my sins ; for I expected to
perish the next day. But what would become
of those three children ? What terrible grief it
would be to their mother and grandmother to
see me condemned with them ! ' My Gad,' I
prayed, ' have mercy on the children, have mercy
on their mothers, and have mercy on me P

I was utterly overcome by these sad reflections
when the door opened with a loud noise. I
rose suddenly, not knowing what might be going
to happen. There was the jailer again, with
his lantern, and an officer of the gendarmerie
was with him. ' Have you your carte ) ' said
the latter to me. I answered that I had. ' Give
it to me.' 'Will you allow me,' said I, as I
handed it to him, ' to tell you what took place,
and why I am here .^ ' ' Yes, you may tell me.'
I related in a few words how I had happened
by chance to be in front of the prison of the
Luxembourg when the prisoners who were to be
taken to the Conciergerie came out ; that one
of them, as she passed very near me, recognized
me and pressed my hand, but that she did not
speak a single word to me, nor did I to her ; and
that this was all that passed. After listening
to me attentively he went away, and took my

During the French Revolution. 205

carle with him ; but he had me put into more
comfortable quarters.

My anxiety increased when I saw that he had
carried off my carte, for it contained my address ;
and I was sure that they would go immediately
to the Hotel Noailles-Mouchy, on the Rue
de rUniversit^, where my pupils Alfred and
Alexis were. ' They will search all over the
Hotel,' said I to myself. ' They will find the
whole of my correspondence with Madame de
Noailles during her imprisonment ; and as there
are many things in those letters which are cov-
ertly expressed, they will be sure to find in
them all sorts of intrigues relative to the con-
spiracy of the Luxembourg, about which the
Republicans and Revolutionary judges are al-
ready making so much noise.' It is true that I
had taken great care to conceal this corres-
pondence. I had confided to Alexis the secret
of the place where I had locked it up, and had
charged him to put it out of sight if he should
see the commissioners or any strangers coming
to the Hotel. We occupied the apartment of
their father^ the Vicomte de Noailles, the win-
dows of which looked out into the street, in
front of the main entrance. Though this thought
somewhat reassured me, my anxiety continued,
and the more so as the officer did not return, and

2o6 Prison Life

it was now very late. I no longer doubted that
he had been to pay a visit to the Hotel Mou-
chy. ' But even if he should find nothing/ said I
to myself, ' can any one ever escape who has
once fallen into their hands ? '

Such was the state of my anxiety when the
officer returned and said these few words which
I shall never forget. ' Here is yom carle. Now
go ; and another time do not come so near.' I
did not wait for him to say anything more. I
took my carte^ my cane, and the other things
which had not been left with me were returned,
and I was free 1

I experienced a feeling of delight at being
liberated contrary to my expectation ; but this
sweet content was only momentary. I thought
of Mesdames de Noailles, whom I had left as it
were in the ante-chamber of death. I could
think of nothing else ; at least they would not
suffer the pain of seeing me share their fate on
the morrow, and of thinking that their children
were left without any one to care for them.
' Religion will come to their aid,' I thought ; ' but
what a struggle they will have to go through.' I
gave thanks to God, and implored him to come
to their help in this moment so full of horror to
human creatures ; and still praying as I went,
I reached the Hotel Mouchy. It was eleven

During the French Revolution. 207

o'clock. The children had not gone to bed ;
they were waiting for me. They asked me a
great many questions, and told me that they had
been very much frightened when I did not re-
turn. I told them that I had had a great many
things to attend to which had caused me most
unwillingly to delay ; that I had been very much
occupied ; that I could not tell them then all
that had happened to me because it was too
late, but that I would tell them all about it the
next day. We then said our prayers together
and went to bed. ' At least,' said I to myself,
' they shall pass this night in peace ; the next
will be cruel and bitter enough.'

The next day (the 22d of July), while the
children were still asleep, I went very early to
the Rue des Sts. Peres, to see P^re Brun, to
tell him that the Mesdames de Noailles were at
the Conciergerie to be tried, and would very
probably be condemned to death that very day,
and to beg him to keep the promise he had made
me, which was to try to meet them as they
passed from the prison to the extreme end of
the Faubourg St. Antoine, as this was the only
consolation they could now have in this world.
He promised me he would not fail to be there.
Whenever he could, this good priest exercised
this act of charity toward the victims. He would

2o8 Prison Lift

accompany them, praying as he went, to the
foot of the scaffold, and there give them the last
absolution. After the deed was done he would
return to his house, still praying, but with an
aching heart.

Father Brun was a father of the Oratory.
We had lived together at Juilly, where we had
charge of the Pensioners called Miniines, be-
cause they were the youngest and the smallest.
He was for a short time the curate of the
parish of Juilly. Madame la Vicomtesse de
Noailles, whose children, Alexis and Alfred,
were in our hall, had corresponded v/ith him for
almost a year. She had great confidence in
him, and he deserved it on account of his piety
and his tender care of her children.

I returned to the Hotel Mouchy. It was
almost six o'clock. I awakened the children,
and told them that we were going to see their
sister Euphemie at St. Mande, which pleased
them very much. They never suspected the
terrible tidings I had to tell them till we came
to the end of our walk.^

1 A copy of this account was sent, May 21, 1S50, to
Madame la Marquise de Verac by Monsieur Gerin, Mon-
sieur Grelet's testamentary executor, and was declared by
him to agree in every respect with the original from the
hand of Monsieur Grelet.

NARRATIVE OF AN EYE-WITNESS OF
THE AFFAIR OF JULY 22, 1794.

(M. Carrichon, Priest.)

A/TADAME LA MARECHALE DE NO-
^^^ AILLES, her daughter-in-law, the Du-
chesse d'Ayen, and her granddaughter, the
Vicomtesse de Noailles, were detained in their
Hotel from the month of September, 1795,
until April, 1794. I knew the first by sight,
and was better acquainted with the other two,
whom I was accustomed to visit once a week.

The Terror was increasing, with its attendant
crimes, and the victims were becoming more
numerous. One day when we were speaking
of this, and were exhorting each other to prepare
to be among their number, I said to them with
a sort of presentiment, ' If you go to the guillo-
tine, and God gives me the strength, I will accom-
pany you.' They took me at my word, adding
with eagerness, ^ Do you promise it ? ' I hesi-
tated a moment. ' Yes,' I replied, 'and that
you may be certain to recognize me I will wear
a dark blue coat and a red waistcoat.
14

210 Prison Life

After that they often reminded me of my
promise. In the month of April, the week after
Easter, I believe, they were conducted to the
Luxembourg. I often received news of them
through Monsieur Grelet, who with such deli-
cate faithfulness rendered many services to
them and to their children.

My promise was frequently recalled. On the
26th or 27th, a Thursday or a Friday, he came
and begged me to render to the Marechal de
Mouchy and his wife the service which I had
promised to them.

1 went to the Palace and succeeded in making
my way into the courtyard ; I then had them
under my eyes, and quite near me, for more than
a quarter of an hour. Monsieur and Madame
de Mouchy, whom I had seen at their house
only once, and whom I knew better than they
knew me, could not recognize me. By inspira-
tion, and with the aid of God, I did what I could
for them. The MarechaFs conduct was singu-
larly edifying ; he prayed aloud with great fer-
vour. The evening before, on leaving the
Luxembourg, he had said to those who regarded
him with interest : ' At seventeen I went up to
the assault for my king; at seventy-eight I go
to the scaffold for my God ; my friends, I am
not unhappy.'

Durhiff the French Revolution. 211

"e>

I avoid details which would lead me on to
endless length. That day I believed it to be
useless to attempt anything ; and, indeed, I did
not feel myself able to go and accompany them
to the guillotine. I was much disturbed by this
on account of the special promise made to their
relatives, whom their death plunged into afflic-
tion. They were incarcerated in the same pri-
son, and had done much to console the Marechal
de Mouchy and his wife.

How much might I ~say of all the many de-
partures which preceded or followed that of the
22d of July! — departures, peaceful or wretched,
according to the dispositions of those who de-
parted. Terribly sad they were, even when the
known character and all external signs denoted
Christian resignation and a Christian death,
but exceedingly distressing when the contrary
was the case, and when the condemned ap-
peared, as it were, to pass from a hell in this
world to that of the other world.

On the 22d of July, which was Tuesday, I
was at my house between eight and ten o'clock
in the morning. I was just on the point of
going out when I heard a knock on my door ;
I opened it and saw the children of the house
of Noailles and their tutor. The children had
the gayety natural to their age, — gayety which

212 Prison Life

was to be changed to sadness by the losses they
were about to undergo, and the fear of expe-
riencing still others. They were going to
walk.

The tutor, sad and melancholy, was pale and
troubled. ' Let us go into your chamber,' said
he, ' and leave the children in your study.' We
went into the chamber ; he cast himself into a
chair. ^ It is all over, my friend ; the ladies are
before the Revolutionary tribunal. I have come
to summon you to keep your word, I am to
take the children to Vincennes, and there see
little Euphemie. In the park I will prepare the
poor children for their terrible loss.'

Prepared as I was myself for this dreadful
blow, I was overwhelmed. The frightful situa-
tion of the mothers, of the children, of their
worthy tutor, this gayety to be followed by such
depth of sorrow, the little sister, Euphemie,
then about four years old, — all this arose before
my imagination.

I recovered myself; and after some inquiries,
replies, and other sad details, I said, ' I will
now change my dress. What an errand ! Pray
to God that he may give me the strength to
execute it.'

We arose and went out into the study, where
we found the children amusing themselves inno-

During the French Revolution. 213

cently, gay and contented as could be. The
sight of them, the thought of their ignorance,
and of what they were about to learn, the inter-
view with their sister which would follow, and
that which we had just gone through, made the
contrast more striking, and afflicted the heart.

Left alone after their departure, I felt myself
overwhelmed and wearied. ' My God,' I cried,
' have pity upon them and upon me 1 ' I changed
my clothes and went upon certain errands, car-
rying in my heart a crushing weight.

I went to the palace between one o'clock
and two, and tried to enter ; it was impossible.
I got some news from one who was coming out
of the Court. I still doubted the reality of
what he told me. The illusion of hope was
finally destroyed by what he went on to say,
and I could no longer have any doubts.

I renewed my walk. It took me to the Fau-
bourg St. Antoine, and with what thoughts,
what inward agitation, what secret fear, all
joined to a violent headache !

I consulted a person in whom I had confi-
dence. She encouraged me in the name of
God. I took a little coffee at her house, and
felt my head improved. I returned to the
palace with slow steps, pensive and irresolute,
dreading to reach the fatal spot, and hoping

214 Prison Life

that I might not find those who summoned
me there.

I arrived before five o'clock. Nothing indi-
cated the departure of the prisoners. I went
sadly up the steps of the Sainte-Chapelle ; I
walked in and around the great hall, I sat down,
I rose again, I spoke to no one. I concealed
within me the sorrow which was preying upon
me. From time to time I cast a sad glance
toward the courtyard, to see if any preparations
for the procession were being made.

My continual thought was, ' In two hours, in
one hour, they will be no more.' I cannot ex-
press how this idea, which has afflicted me all
my life in the too frequent and distressing occa-
sions in which it has been recalled, afflicted
me at that time. With so dreadful a cause of
waiting, never did hour appear to me at once
so long and so short as that which I passed
from five o'clock to six, by reason of the various
thoughts which agitated me, and which rapidly
drove my mind from the illusions of a vain hope
to fears unhappily only too real.

Finally, by the noise which came to my ears,
I judged that the prison doors were about to be
opened. I went down and took a position near
the gate, as for a fortnight it had no longer been
possible to obtain entrance into the courtyard.

During the French Revolution. 215

The first cart was filled and came toward
where I stood. It contained eight ladies who
seemed in a very edifying frame of mind ; they
were unknown to me. The ninth and last, to
whom I was very near, was the Marechale de
Noailles. The absence of her daughter-in-law
and granddaughter gave me one last faint ray
of hope. But alas ! they immediately entered
the second cart. Madame de Noailles was
dressed in white, which she had not ceased
wearing since the death of her father-in-law and
mother-in-law, the Marechal de Mouchyandhis
wife. She appeared about twenty-four years
old at the most. Madame d'Ayen, a lady of
forty years, was in a striped ddshabilU of blue
and white. I saw them, though at a little dis-
tance. Six men also got into the fatal car and
took their places near them. I remarked that
the first two took their stand at a little distance
from the others, showing them by this respectful
attention that they desired to leave them more
free. From this I drew good auguries.

Scarcely had they taken their places when the
daughter exhibited toward the mother an eager
and tender interest, which was remarked by all
the bystanders. I heard them saying near me,
' Do you see how agitated that young lady is,
and how she talks to the other one ? '

2i6 Prison Life

I saw that they were looking for me. I
seemed to hear all that they said. ' Mamma,
he is not there.'

' Look again.'

' Nothing escapes me, I assure you, Mamma ;
he is not there.'

They forgot that I had sent word to them of
the impossibility of getting into the courtyard.

The first cart stood near me at least a quarter
of an hour. It came forward first. The second
was about to pass, and I stood ready. It passed,
and the ladies did not see me. I went back into
the palace, made a long circuit, and placed myself
in a conspicuous position at the entrance of the
Pont au Change. Madame de Noailles looked
around on every side, but passed by without see-
ing me. I followed them along the bridge, sepa-
rated from the crowd, and yet quite near them.
Madame de Noailles, though constantly looking
for me, did not perceive me.

Distress was painted upon the face of Ma-
dame d'Ayen ; her daughter redoubled her
watchfulness but without success. I was
tempted to give up. I had done what I
could, I said to myself, and everywhere else the
crowd would be still greater. It was of no use,
and I was tired. I was about to go away, when
the sky was covered over, thunder was heard in

During the French Revolution. 217

the distance, and I resolved to make another
trial.

By roundabout ways I arrived before the
carts did in the Rue St. Antoine beyond the
Rue de Fourcy, almost opposite the too famous
prison of La Force. Then a violent wind arose.
The storm burst ; flashes of lightning and peals
of thunder succeeded each other rapidly. The
rain began, and soon fell in torrents. I with-
drew to the doorway of a shop which I still
vividly remember, and which I never since then
see without emotion. In an instant the street
was cleared ; there were no more people, save
at the doors, in the shops, and at the windows.
There was more order in the marching. The
horsemen and musketeers advanced more
quickly, and the carts also. They reached the
little St. Antoine, and I was still undecided.
The first cart passed before me. A rapid and
almost involuntary movement brought me from
the shop door and to the second cart ; and there
I was alone, quite near the ladies. Madame
de Noailles, smiling, seemed to say to me,
' Here you are at last ; ah, how comforted
we are 1 We have sought for you eagerly.
Mamma, here he is.' Madame d'Ayen revived.
All my irresolution ceased ; I felt myself
inspired by the grace of God with extraor-

2i8 Prison Life

dinary courage. Though wet through with
perspiration and rain I took no thought of it,
but continued to walk near them. Upon the
steps of the College St. Louis I perceived a
friend, full of respect and attachment for them,
endeavouring to render them the same service
as that which I was offering them.^ His face
and attitude showed all that he felt upon seeing
them. I struck my hand upon his shoulder
with inexpressible emotion, and cried to him as
I passed by, • Good evening, my friend.'

At this point there is an open place, and sev-
eral streets enter into it. The storm was at its
height, and the wind had grown more violent.
The ladies in the first wagon were much dis-
turbed by it, especially the Marechale de No-
ailles ; her large cap was thrown back, and
showed her gray hair. They tottered upon

1 This friend whom Father Carrichon met was Father
Brun, Priest of the Oratory, jointly with whom I had
charge, at Juilly, of the Hall of the Minimes (the youngest
pupils of the College), among whom were Messieurs
Alexis and Alfred de Noailles. I had informed Monsieur
Brun on the same day as Monsieur Carrichon (July 22,
1794) of our anxieties and our desires for Mesdames de
Noailles. These two friends met in the Rue de Faubourg
St. Antoine, accompanied the victims, gave them their
blessing, and did not withdraw until after the completion
of the final sacrifice. — Note by Monsieur Grclet.

During Ihe French Revolution. 219

their rough plank seats, their hands being tied
behind their backs. Immediately a crowd of
men, who were there in spite of the rain, recog-
nized her, paid attention only to her^ and by
their insulting cries increased the tortures which
she was supporting with patience. ' There she
is,' they cried, ' the Marechale who went in
such style, driving in her fine carriage, — there
she is in the cart, just like the others I '

The cries continued ; the heavens grew darker
and the rain more violent. We reached the
street crossing just in front of the Fau-
bourg St. Antoine. I went forward, looked
around, and said to myself, this is the best place
to afford them what they so much desire. The
cart was going more slowly ; I stopped and
turned toward them. I made a sign to Madame
de Noailles which she entirely understood :
* Mamma, Monsieur Carrichon is about to
give us absolution.' Immediately they bent
their heads with an air of repentance, contrition,
tenderness, hope, and piety.

I raised my hand, and, though with covered
head, pronounced the entire formula of absolu-
tion, and the words which follow it, very dis-
tinctly, and with the deepest earnestness. They
joined in this more perfectly than ever. I can
never forget the holy picture, worthy of the

220 Prison Life

pencil of Raphael, of that moment when, for
them, all was balm and consolation.

Immediately the storm relaxed and the rain
diminished. It was as if they had come only to
insure the success of what my friends and I
had so ardently desired. I blessed God for it,
and they did the same. Their appearance showed
contentment, security, and cheerfulness.

As we advanced into the Faubourg the eager
crowds fell back upon the two sides of the street.
They insulted the first ladies, especially the Mare-
chale ; nothing was said to the other two. Some-
times I preceded and sometimes I accompanied
the wagons. After passing the Abbey de St. An-
toine I met a young man whom I had formerly
known ; he was a priest whom I had some reason
to suspect, and his presence annoyed me. I was
afraid of being recognized, but happily I was
not ; he turned aside, and I did not see him
again.

Finally, we arrived at the fatal spot ; what
went on within me cannot be described. What
a moment ! What a separation, what grief for
the husbands, the children, the sisters, the rela-
tives and friends who should survive them in
this vale of tears ! ' I see them,' I thought, ' still
full of health ; they would have been so useful
to their families, and in a moment I shall see

During the French Revolution. 221

them no more. How heart-rending it is I But
what a great comfort to us to see them so
resigned V

The scaffold appears ; the carts come to a stop ;
the guards surround them; I shudder. A more
numerous circle of spectators now is about us ;
most of them laugh, and are amused at this
heart-breaking spectacle. Imagine how ter-
rible a situation it was for me, to be in the midst
of such a crowd with my mind agitated by
thoughts so different.

While the executioner and his two attendants
were assisting the ladies who were in the first
cart to descend, Madame de Noailles's eyes
wandered around in search of me. At last she
saw me. And now there was a repetition** of
that first ravishing view I had of her. Her ex-
pressive eyes, so sweet, so animated, so heav-
enly^ glanced first up to heaven and then down
to earth, and finally were fixed so intently upon
me that it might have caused me to be remarked
if my neighbours had been more attentive. I
pulled my hat down over my eyes, but not so as
to prevent my seeing her. I seemed to hear her
say, ' Our sacrifice is made. We leave our dear
ones ; but God in his mercy calls us. Our faith
is firm. We shall not forget them when we are
in his presence. We give you our thanks, and

222 Prison Life

send our tenderest farewells to them, Jesus
Christ, who died for us^ is our strength. We die
in his arms. Farewell ! God grant we may all
meet again in heaven. Farewell I '

It is impossible to give any idea of her saintly,
earnest gestures ; there was about her an elo-
quence so touching that those around me said,
' Ah, see that young woman ! How resigned she
is ! See how she raises her eyes to heaven 1
See how she is praying ! But what good will
that do her ? ' Then on reflection : ' Oh, those
wicked parsons 1 ' Having said their last fare-
wells they all descended from the wagon.

I was no longer conscious of anything, being
at once heart-broken, grieved, and yet com-
forted. How I thanked God that I had not
delayed giving them absolution till this moment !
If I had waited till just as they were mounting
the scaffold we could not have been so united
in the presence of God to ask and receive this
great blessing as we had been in the other
place ; and that also was the most undisturbed
moment of the whole route.

I leave the spot where I had been standing.
I pass round to the opposite side while the others
are getting out of the wagon. I find myself in
front of the wooden stairway by which they
were to mount the scaffold, and against which

During the French Revolution. 223

a tall, rather fat old man with white hair and a
kindly face was leaning. He looked like a
farmer. Near him was a very resigned-looking
woman whom I did not know ; next came the
Marechale de Noailles, just opposite me,
dressed in black taffeta. She had not yet laid
aside mourning for the Marechal. She was
seated on a block of wood or stone which hap-
pened to be there, her large eyes fixed. I did
not forget to pray for her as I had done for so
many others, and especially for the Marechal
and Marechale de Mouchy. All the others
were ranged in two lines on the side facing the
Faubourg St. Antoine.

I looked around for the ladies ; I could only
see the mother. Her attitude was that of devo-
tion, — simple, noble, and resigned. Entirely oc-
cupied with the sacrifice she was about to offer to
God through the merits of the Saviour, his divine
son, her eyes were closed ; she showed no anx-
iety, not even as much as when formerly she
had had the privilege of approaching the sacred
table. I shall never forget the impression she
made upon me then. I often picture her to
myself in that attitude. God grant that I may
profit by it.

The Marechale de Noailles was the third to
mount the altar of sacrifice. It was necessary

224 Prison Life

to cut away the upper part of the neck of her
dress so as to expose her throat. I felt as if I
could not stand and see it all ; yet I wished to
drink the cup to the dregs and keep my word, if
only God would grant me strength to keep my
senses in the face of such a terrible sight.

Six ladies passed on after her. Madame
d'Ayen was the tenth. She seemed to me to
look pleased that she was to die before her
daughter did, and the daughter glad to die
after her mother. When she mounted the scaf-
fold the chief executioner pulled off her bonnet.
As it was fastened on by a pin which he did
not take out, the pain caused by having her
hair dragged out with it was evident in her
countenance.

The mother's life was ended. How I grieved
to see that young lady, looking in her white
dress even younger than she really was, sweet
and gentle as a little lamb, led to the slaughter.
I felt as though I were present at the martyr-
dom of one of those holy young virgins repre-
sented in the pictures of the great masters.

The same thing which occurred in her mother's
case happened in hers, — the same oversight as to
the pin, the same pain, the same calm, the same
death! How the red blood flowed down from
her head and her throat I

During the French Revolution. 225

' Now she is happy I ' I cried to myself as I
saw her body thrown into the horrible coffin.

May the all-powerful and all-merciful God
grant to their family every blessing they may
desire, and that I ask for my own, and bring us
all together with those who have gone before
into that abode where there is no more Revo-
lution, into that country which shall have, as
Saint Augustine says, —

'Truth for its King,
Charity for its law,
And Eternity for its duration.'

LETTER FROM MADAME LA DUCH-
ESSE DE DURAS, NEE NOAILLES,
TO MONSIEUR GRELET.

Be of good courage and He shall strengthen your heart,
all ye that hope in the Lord. — Ps. xxxi. 24.

TTOW much you need to apply these sacred
•^^ words to yourself in the trying situation in
which Providence has placed you 1 We have
already tested your courage in a most wonderful
way ; it will not fail you, because it rests on the
law of God, and in him alone you have put your
trust. What would the father and mother of
these unfortunate children feel if you should
abandon them ? But what am I saying > They
will deserve the continuation of your tender
cares on account of their sweetness and perfect
obedience. I love to believe that they will in-
herit some of the virtues of the angel whom we
mourn. That lovely mother opened her pure
heart to you ; you should inculcate in her
children all that she valued, all that she felt. She
regarded you as their brother, and treated you
as such. It is as a sister, and also one who

228 Prison Life.

shared her confidence^ that I am now speaking
to you ; for I am not sure of having an oppor-
tunity of telling you with my lips all I think.
If Heaven spares my life it will be a precious
moment to me (who could imagine one more
so }) when I find myself once more with you
and them, talking together of our dear lost ones,
and encouraging one another to profit by their
admirable examples. We will say to them, ' Be
Christians and you will be faithful to every duty ;
study human sciences, because they will help
you to be useful to humanity ; but above all, and
before everything else, be good.'

I think it is necessary that they should know
perfectly well how to calculate, etc.

I have given up everything ; I have ceased to
think of anything earthly, and keep my mind
fixed upon heaven. I must close. I am, per-
haps, speaking to you for the last time. I know
not what Providence has in store for me ; but
whatever it may be I shall never cease to re-
member the debt I owe you, which can only
be equalled by my confidence in you.

EXTRACT FROM THE 'MEMORIAL
EUROPEEN,' APRIL 24, 1809.

IVTEAR the old village of Picpus, now a part
•*-^ of the Faubourg St. Antoine, under the
walls of the garden which belonged to the canon-
ess of St. Augustine, in a bit of ground not
more than thirty feet in length, repose thirteen
hundred and fifteen victims beheaded at the
Barriere du Throne between the 26th Prairial
and the 9th Thermidor in the second year of the
Republic.

Widows, orphans, and mothers left comfort-
less, and without support, swallowed their tears in
secret, and dared not even ask for their dead the
right of burial. In times like those, tears had
ceased to be innocent, and the tomb to be a
refuge. These unhappy creatures contented
them.selves with commending the remains of
their loved ones to Him whose eye is ever upon
the living and the dead ; but they knew not
whose hand buried them, nor even the spot of
earth where they were laid.

230 Prison Life

But a Sister as brave as she was tender, Ma-
dame Amelie-Zephirine de Salm-Kirbourg, Prin-
cess of Hohenzollern, sister of Frederick, Prince
of Salm, gained from her great grief a strength
which others seemed to lose. She had, I may
say, watched over the last moments of her
brother's life, had seen the blow which ended
his days, the wagon which bore away his re-
mains, the earth which received them. She
bought the spot of ground, scarcely sufficient to
cover the victims who had just been buried
there ; she had it enclosed by a wall, and she
protected it from profanation, hoping that pious
sorrow would some day consecrate these new
catacombs. This prayer of fraternal piety has
been heard ; it has been fulfilled by two sisters,
Mesdames de la Fayette and de Montagu,
worthy imitators of such an example, for they
were themselves worthy of setting it. They
both belonged to one of those patrician families
which had remained sound in the midst of an
age despoiled of virtue, like an obelisk in the
midst of a desert ; both were daughters, grand-
daughters, sisters, and were related to and nearly
connected with several victims beheaded at the
Barriere du Throne. One of them, whose days
were fewer than her good works, died last year,
leaving in the world, in which she has lived only

During the French Revolution, 231

to be wife and mother, a void difficult to fill ;
the other, with a broken heart, a worn-out
body, and her fortune all lost, still finds comfort
for the sorrowful, solace for the suffering, and
help for the poor. These two noble and pious
women began by purchasing a portion of the
ground belonging to the nuns ; and upon the
ruins of the cells they have caused to be built
a modest oratory. The innocence of the former
occupants must help to make effectual the
prayers to be offered there. The august sym-
bol of our redemption has now been placed
above this funeral enclosure ; a priest has been
sent there by the Grand Vicars of Paris ; an
annual service has been appointed there ; and
the blood of a Divine Victim has been offered
upon this altar for the repose of the souls of all
these distinguished dead.

This was doubtless sufficient for the dignity
and consolation of all these Christian spirits, but
not to satisfy the tender pity of their families and
friends. The chapel and the cemetery were sep-
arated from each other by the garden of the nuns.
It was resolved to unite them by purchasing
this valuable bit of ground, which contains more
than four arpenis. A subscription was started.
A circular was drawn up by a man noted for
talent and integrity,^ who for thirty years has
1 Monsieur Lally-Tollendal.

232 Prison Life

declared himself the defender of all those whose
misfortunes were most noble and touching.
Generous emotion responded to the appeal of
eloquent sensibility, and subscriptions were
soon obtained to the amount of forty thousand
francs. By the side of the proudest and most
cherished names of France one cannot see with-
out emotion the unknown names and small do-
nations of several faithful servants who brought
their humble offerings to lay at the feet of their
old masters and at the base of the new altar.
The whole of the piece of ground was at last
purchased ; and for two years and a half the
same enclosure has surrounded the victims and
the oratory of the dead. The ashes of the
fathers have become the property of the chil-
dren ; the children will transmit it to their
descendants. This monument will remain as
a sorrowful reparation for the past and an im-
pressive lesson to the future.

Here every day the holy sacrifice is offered
up for all the victims of the Revolution ; here
are celebrated every year for those buried in
this spot two solemn services, — one on Low
Sunday week and the other on the day corre-
sponding to the 9th Thermidor ; here on last
Monday, the nth of this month, a congrega-
tion gathered to celebrate the anniversary. After

During the French Revolution. 233

the service at the chapel, which was remarkable
only for the number and emotion of those pres-
ent, the attendants went in procession, accord-
ing to custom, into the Champ des Martyrs.

In the middle there is a bit of rising ground
shaded by cypress and poplar trees, whose tall
waving branches remind us of the vanity of our
earthly hopes, and point to where they should
be fixed ; while a cross surmounting a pyra-
mid, whose base is planted upon all these van-
ished sources of happiness, seems to call all the
descendants of the victims to its outstretched
arms. The funeral memorial service began, and
the faithful, on their knees, alternately repeated
the melancholy stanzas of the psalm which
mourns and hopes.

THE END.

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

Los Angeles
This book is DU^^n the last date stamped below.

:! I^vi#

t

1 A if^"'^

30m-7,'70(N8475s8)— C-120

3 1158 01175 3968